#the sheer amount I read makes it pale in comparison

[gojology]

Clubs Aren’t My Thing. (1/2)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | i’m REPOSTING this because my already bruised ego absolutely rejects the fact that my writing got 33 notes, that, and i just don’t want to continue this if it doesn’t get any traction. i’m not good at nsfw, so i feel like if not a lotta people wanna read my work, why try hard on something i’m bad at? anyways, this whole club concept is totally from @/mystic-sky or skyfelt on ao3. pls check her out. if anything is inaccurate its prob bcuz the only reference i have is the club penguin dance club teehee. 

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | mentions of sex, drinking, you’re literally at a club.

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Female Reader

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2847

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | You’re alone, at a bar, waiting for the end of the night to come. Then again this was bound to happen, as clubs weren’t really your thing, but promises of snacks and money from your friends were really what you came for. A mysterious, yet intriguing white haired man approaches you, and eventually he piques your interest. Little do you know, you had piqued his as well, and he’s having a hard time trying to hide it.

Bright, flickering vivid lights was all the human eye could see from where you were sitting.  You’re sitting at a bar, legs restless and rhythmically bumping against the table. You had come here for a “fun night”, even though they promptly ditched you for the lively dance floor afterwards, you assumed to pick up guys and have some encounters in the bedroom.  It wasn’t quite your thing though, well, you didn’t know yourself, you were far too shy to find out, though.  That’s how you found yourself alone, at a bar, completely sober.   Your friends pushed you, (which was a bit weird since they were no where near you now- so really now, what was the point?) luring you with yummy snacks and treats to come out of your house for once. Hesitantly agreeing, you didn’t expect to have them dress you up as well.   Fighting them off and running for the bedroom door, you hated the very idea of even interacting with anyone. Moaning and groaning like a child that you weren’t getting enough for going to a social event, and not wearing your beloved baggy hoodies and sweatpants.   “Okay, okay!” your friend stood up, hands above her. Shaking her head and letting out an exasperated sigh.   “We’ll add on a free dinner- on us.”   Raising an eyebrow, you scrolled through your phone. This wasn’t a bad deal, not at all. You decided to not reply, though.   “Ugh, (Y/N), Okay. A 50 DOLLAR GIFTCARD TO YOUR FAVORITE STORE. Do we have a deal?” Your friend blurted out, sitting down on her chair with a huff.   The girl clearly wanted you to go to the club.  You grinned evilly, realizing just how much you can get.   Of course, you wouldn’t spend the money without spoiling some of your girlies, but you had gotten even more then you asked for, and well- sure it was a bit mean, but you figured afterwards you could go out with them without the bargaining.   And so, facepalm after facepalm ensued, offering you more and more unnecessary amounts of money and food, you finally broke under the pressure of being a tad too mean. You weren’t planning on torturing your friends for life.   At that point, who could really resist?   Now, enthusiastic with your eyes only on the prize, you allowed yourself to be dressed up just this once. Your friends had whipped up the nicest outfit they could without it showing very much skin (per your request!).   Your friends had let you borrow a rather short white plaid skirt they had paired with a casual simple t-shirt. Slightly sheer, and a warm, yet soft cardigan that was kind of scratchy. Donning a pair of tights that you had picked yourself and your favorite pair of beaten up Doc Martens. You realize that it didn’t look half-bad on you.  For once, you thought you looked nice.   However, it seemed to pale in comparison with the scandalous outfits your friends seemed to prefer. Dresses hugging their curves, showing as much of their skin as possible without being full-blown naked, you wonder how one can hold so much self-confidence. But you ignore the feeling, repeating to yourself that you looked good in your own ways.  You wave for the bar tender, feeling a rush of self confidence as you glance down at your outfit. The rather disgruntled man eyes perked up at the request, rushing over.  “May I offer you something, ma’am?”  You gulp, the self confidence rapidly crashing back down, almost as soon as it had come up. You weren’t quite the drinker, and you weren’t looking to find if you were. Running a hand through your already tousled hair, you stutter out a short sentence.  “Can I have some.. Water? With, uh, ice.”  He nods, seemingly shocked that you weren’t ordering any alcoholic beverages before turning his back on you and quickly whipping up the rather simplistic drink. Well, then again, judging by the outfit, one glance would be enough to tell him that you were forced to come, or shy.    Shocked by how comprehensible you had been when speaking to him, your lips curve slightly into a warm smile. Working around your fear of talking to people in unusual places was good.   Handing the glass of water to you with cold fingertips, you nod back. Skimming his hand as you did so. You grimace, contact felt weird.   Taking a sip, you looked away and hoped not to make conversation.  You heard a rather loud laugh, which was an understatement, because you could hear it even through the mass of chatter and movement of the club.  Curious by who could possibly be louder than the sheer deafening cheers of a drunken crowd, you look towards the other direction, before setting your eyes on a ridiculously white haired man.  He was laughing again now, and your eyes immediately drift over to his very defined jawline. No wonder so many girls were around him, by the looks of it, he looked like a famous model.  His head high above all the females crowding around him, you notice the man next to him. A disgruntled, yet polite looking individual you assumed to be his friend sat next to him.   He was also towering over the women, nodding and smiling at the many girls tempting him with their bodies, but he seemed so clueless that you doubted he even had a clue of what was going on.   Fidgeting and playing with his hair, he was clad in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. The crowd of women around him wasn’t as large as the white haired man, you noted, but still large nonetheless.  “Oh, him?” the bartender blurted, you turn to face him again, cursing yourself for being so obvious in your endeavors.  Wiping a cocktail shaker down with a towel, he ducks his head, studying the remaining water droplets. You stare daggers at the bartender for interrupting your train of thought, before cursing yourself for being so mean.  “He’s a regular, gets drunk quite frequently, and he’s Prince Charming to the ladies.”  Rubbing the back of your head, you stare back at the bartender. Unsure what to make of his approach on conversation.  Reconsidering like the good person you are, you thought about how annoyed the guy got talking to a bunch of drunk college kids. He seemed like he had good intentions, and talking to someone that was sober was sure to be refreshing.  “Yeah, I can tell, the guy has a lot of girls around him. He looks really... Lively. To put it simply.”  The bartender laughed, relaxing himself as soon as he heard the friendly words leave your lips. He finished wiping down the cocktail shaker and proceeded to the neatly stacked cups which had just been washed.  “No, the guy’s just friendly. Real hit with the ladies, especially his.. Uh, physical attributes. See his friend over there? Lil bit more modest, he started coming here recently. Don’t let that good natured face fool you though, they’re both the same..”  You rolled your eyes, Typical. Taking the last few gulps of your water before you slammed it back down. The bartender took the cup, refilling it hastily and giving it back to you.  You heard several girls giggling, and you glanced back in the direction of the men. The long, raven haired man had his arms wrapped around dozen or more girls, swarming him as if he was a celebrity.  The bartender was right, he looked so bored when you had studied the two, but here he was now with the same army of girls heeding his every call.  That left the white haired man alone.  Shaking his head with a small chortle, he took another swig out of his drink before looking down at the empty glass, he stood up, and by God were those legs long, before walking to the empty stool next to you.  “Yo. Bartender. Refill?”  The bartender set down the cup he was scrubbing down, rummaging his hands through various shelfs, filled with various drinks and add-ons, before taking the mysterious man’s glass.  Curious, you take a small peek at the man, almost jumping back when he was staring unflinching at you, too. Taking this as an invitation to gape at such an incredibly well-fit body. Your eyes stare up at what you could; starting with his collarbones.  Paired deliciously with a simple gold chain, you had to admit, it was a good touch. The simplicity of the chain was enough for you to gape dumbly at anything else that was interesting, and was left dumbfounded by the sheer hotness of... Well, him, and those incredibly prominent collarbones.  You look downwards, and he’s wearing a black, simple t-shirt. Not a wrinkle, nor specks of lint in sight.  Well toned arms, and incredibly strong looking ones at that rested idly against his sides. An expensive watch glinted in the light.  He hadn’t quite said anything yet, so you look down even more without hesitation. Almost like you couldn’t control yourself.   Tucking his shirt in neatly was his belt, you could easily tell it was a high-end brand. Casual, wide flared black jeans, the guy really loved black you noted. The accessories made up for it though, various chains were lazily thrown in, and it made the outfit so much more hotter, especially on him.  “My eyes are up here, girly.”  Feeling your cheeks become full to the brim with warmth, your hands fumble about, words formulating at the tip of your tongue to apologize profusely, you look up.  Circular black shades concealed the white haired man’s eyes, and your heart pounds more. Something about him was so intriguing.  About to blurt out nonsense about actually being very interested at a wall, he held his palm up, a large toothy grin gracing his features.  “It’s okay, I’m into hot chicks ogling me. Especially hot chicks with cute outfits.”  Everything on your mind was suddenly wiped clean, you open your mouth before closing, unsure about what to say.  He thought you were hot?   He thought your outfit was cute?  He laughs, and you snap out of your daze. Muttering a quick thanks when the bartender handed his rather sugary exotic drink to him.  “Saw you looking at me earlier, sweetcheeks.” he hums before tipping the glassware near his glossy lips, sipping the drink, looking down at you as he did.  “No, I think you saw wrong... Are you blind?” you asked, still recovering from the compliments you hadn’t ever received in your life prior to this strange encounter. Desperate to get out of the advancingly awkward conversation, you had never been placed in such a weird setting.  He snorts, taking another deep sip of his drink.  “Nah. People think that, though. People think I’m... Old, for some reason?”  “Hm, I wonder why.” replying sarcastically, you felt yourself jolt up, a mix of uneasiness and excitement bubbling up inside of you. By your experience and tips from your friends, these type of guys seemed to like sassy, teasing girls.  Whipping out your phone from your bag, you try to appear casual, even though your excitement was starting to die down by his silence, turning into dread.  Whistling, trying to look like you didn’t have a care in the world, you physically wince as you realize how stupid you potentially look. Wondering what your friends would say about such an attractive guy seemingly hitting on you, then again, they didn’t seem to really care.  No new notifications, and no familiar faces running up to you with open, friendly arms.  He chuckles again. “I like your style, missy. You come here alone? That’s a shame, pretty girls like you deserve to have someone to come with.”  You look down, struggling to contain the growing smile. Doing a small little victory dance in your head as you realize that he had literally stated that he liked your style.   “I did come with someone, my friends.”  “Where’s your friends?” he inquired.  “Partying at the dance floor, flirting with guys probably.” you nonchalantly reply, struggling to hold your tone, but even then it wavered. You didn’t get hit on often, and when you did they were there to help you.  “That makes two of us, my friend Geto pulled all my chicks, and my pussy for tonight.”  He said it so nonchalantly, you almost spat out your water.  “What are you here for? Some good dick?” he shifted his arm to rest against the table, his hand against his head, lazily looking at you.  You study his figure once more, ignoring his previous question. He looked like he came straight out of a magazine, or a movie. Broad, yet strong looking shoulders.  He looked straight up fake.  He towered over you, and you estimated that he was over 6 foot. His hair seemed soft, and manageable, and so, so fun to play with. A Deep, yet playful voice that would probably make everyone within a 6 mile radius instantly melt.  “Hm, cute. I like straight-forward girls.” he poked fun at you, grinning carelessly.  “I’m not being straightforward in any shape or form, what do you mean?” you flutter your eyelashes innocently at him, knowing damn well what he meant.  “You’re fucking studying me like a textbook before finals.”  “You still haven’t told me your name!” you shot back without thinking, you didn’t want to be caught doing something so scandalous. He winked, you took this as a sign of him following suit.  “That’s what makes it fun, baby.”  “Here, lets trade.”   You had decided that you really liked his style, after letting you off the hook so easily like that. He was shrouded in a cloak of mystery, and you found it hot. That, or maybe he wanted to just fuck around and have one night-stands, which wasn’t your style at all, but you still wanted to see where this would go.  “Tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine. Fair right?”  He stroked his chin with his unoccupied arm, contorting his face and making you giggle a little, even though it wasn’t very funny. With him, you felt like you could strangely be yourself.  “Hmmmmm....” stroking his chin more, he began to pick up and sip his beverage as if it was a tea cup, holding opposite ends of each other and deeply drinking. He set the cup down.  “Nope.”  Exasperated, you slam your cup down.  “That aside, let’s get back to the point!,” he leaned closer into you, smiling a little as you jumped back. Your confidence when you talked with him had dissolved into thin air.  “You’re really cute.”  Frozen in place, you gawk back at him.    He was straightforward, no doubt it, but you didn’t think he was this straightforward. Most men you knew played a game of cat and mouse, only if you caught them you were rewarded.  Opening and closing your mouth, no sound came out. He snorts, taking another sip and waving the bartender to come back, who was now washing cups awkwardly on the other side of the bar.   You almost pitied the bartender, the guy had ordered so many refills at this point, you wouldn’t be dumb to assume he was either a raging alcoholic or another dumb college kid.  “Refill, again.”   The bartender nodded solemnly in reply, swiftly taking the cup. You realize how overworked the poor guy was, wondering how many refills the mysterious white haired man had gotten before you had even step foot in the vicinity.  “I’d love to take you to the bedroom, baby.” he nods as the bartender returns, sipping and looking back down at you.   You bolted upwards, cursing as you realize you’re slouching, not very attractive. The straightforwardness from him was, though. No doubt it, but you were really not looking to break your heart over a fuckboy.  “Uh, um.”  He tips your chin upward, and your heart leaps out of your throat. There was something so undeniably attractive about this act, maybe it was the way he knew how to make you into pudding, or maybe it was the aura of dominance.   Haughtiness literally radiated off of him, as if he knew he could pull a girl in under 1 minute. Well, then again, he probably did know.  Fuck, what were you thinking, this was a complete stranger that could probably pull chicks more attractive then you, times 100.  “Aw, shy? Cute. Don’t worry, you’re intriguing, and if you’re bad at sex, not to worry. I’ll do it all, and I’m good. Maybe give you a few lessons here and there.” he chirped, tilting his head, curiosity evident.   “But, it’s all up to you, sugar. I’m not trying to force you into this.” the man added.   He did seem hot, and this was really a one-in-a-million chance. No one had really looked at you that way at the level of attractiveness that he had. You didn’t want to regret anything, and getting out of your shell was good right?   What could go wrong?   “...I wouldn’t mind.”   A crooked smirk spread across his face.   “I’ll call an Uber.”

[zechleton]

Ranting and Raving About Magic in 2022

I haven’t written about Magic in ages, so what better way could there be to get back into the habit that a stream of consciousness spiel about the 2022 announcement?

Strap in, folks, because this is going to be long and poorly edited.

Actually, it’s not that long, about 1500 words. It might feel longer, though.

Neo-Tokyo or something idk

As one of the five people on r/magictcg that didn’t want to return to Kamigawa in standard set, I have to admit this one looks surprisingly awesome. The couple of pieces of art Wizard shared looked fantastic, as usual, and I’m a sucker for that blue/pink colour scheme. I’m not a huge fan of time travel as a story telling device but since the Magic story has always served the card game, using tropes I don’t enjoy is far from a deal-breaker. Yeah – I’m cautiously optimistic about this one.

Someone Made Elspeth an Offer she Couldn’t Refuse

Obviously, we know much less about this set. Still, it sounds right up my alley. I’m curious how Wizards is going to make Magic meets The Godfather work, but the good kind of curious. On top of that, I’d really like to have some more shard-based commanders on Arena for Brawl, and I assume we’re the “three-colour demon crime families” isn’t referring to clans (triome?) again after leaving Ikoria behind. Also, come on, how can you not love the sound of demon crime families?

Glory, Glory, Dom United!

There is a part of me that gets nervous about nebulous concepts like design space whenever we go back to an old plane again. All these crossovers (more on those later) take on a different appearance when viewed through an “are they running out of ideas” lens. Still, Dominaria was fantastic, by far the best “return to” set – though I’m hoping Innistrad claims that throne in a few weeks. With that in mind, I’m expecting Wizards to knock it out of the park with DU, just like they did with Dominaria.

The Nostalgia Wars

I might scoff somewhat at Magic’s storyline sometimes, but I’ve read the stuff that people think is good. I own both collections of the Artifacts Cycle. They all pale in comparison to good fantasy, but they’re not bad, and they hold a special place in my heart from when I was more invested in stuff like lore and story. The point of that ramble? 2022, more than ever, is Wizards’ mining the seemingly neverending mineral that is nerd nostalgia. It further adds to my “are they running out of ideas” worry, but I can’t say the nostalgia hit/psychological manipulation isn’t working on me. Hell, Return to Return to Innistrad has me more excited than any set for a couple of years now so I guess I’m part of the problem.

Uncaring

The phrase “not for you” is thrown around distrubingly often in Magic circles nowadays. Unfinity, however, is decidedly not for me. And that’s fine.

Dungeons And Dragons Battle for Baldur’s Gate Commander Legends I Think That’s The Whole Title But Maybe I Missed a bit I’m not Sure

Yikes, what a mouthful. I hate the title, both its length and unwieldiness. I don’t really have much interest in the set either. Commander Legends was a neat idea with a lot of flaws. Adding crossover flavour from another IP I have little-to-no interest in isn’t helping matters, though I appreciate that Adventures in the Forgotten Realms was super popular. For me, AFR was pretty much just a core set without any of the usual references to sets I do know and care about. Another “not for me” release.

Double Trouble

Hmm. I’m torn here. As a primarily limited-focused player, Masters sets have been some of my favourites ever. Original Modern Masters is still one of my in my top five sets of all time, and I have fond memories of almost all of the others, too.

Original Double Masters, though, was a victim of apathy brought on by the never-ending deluge of Magic product being released nowadays. I have never even seen a booster of this product, much less opened one. Without looking it up, I can’t even tell you if it was hurt by the pandemic or not, because there’s just way too much fucking stuff nowadays. I don’t know what else to say.

Oh, hang on. Was this the set with a $100 VIP Booster? Hahaha, fuck off.

Jump Around

The original Jumpstart was surprisingly enjoyable on Arena. I never wanted to play it more than a few times, and sometimes you got packs that relied entirely on your opponent getting mana screwed, but those few times I played it were pretty fun. I think putting stuff like obvious eternal format staples like Alosaurus Shepherd in a set like this is some extremely anti-consumer bullshit, but as a play experience it was an interesting mesh of draft and sealed. Not as much fun as either of those, but close enough that the novelty carried it into the “pretty fun, actually” camp. I expect more of the same – I’ll probably do a few runs if I have gems or gold spare.

Universes Beyond: Warhammer 40K Commander et al

Really, this is the bit about all the crossover stuff.

Another vomit inducing title and one that has left me with some introspection to do. Like many people, I find a lot of this crossover stuff distasteful, but I can’t really say why. The fact that the Street Fighter one – an IP I have some amount of investment in – seems less egregious than Warhammer of D&D makes me think that I don’t necessarily object to crossovers on principal. Does my dislike come from the fact that, so far, all of the other crossovers don’t involve properties I care about? Maybe. Even the mechanically unique line of text that pissed off so many people when the Walking Dead set came out doesn’t bother me that much, because Commander is a format I can take or leave.

The Fortnite one rubs me a different wrong way, though. Partly, it’s the sheer fucking inevitability of it all. Of course a popular part of the nerd sphere will have a crossover with Fortnite because that’s just the world in which we live. Partly it makes me feel old, uncool, and excluded, like all the other crossovers I don’t care about, sure. But there’s something more visceral about Fortnite. It’s fucking everywhere and I resent feeling like I have to have an opinion about it. Still, I don’t really have strong opinions about most of the other crossovers, so why this one? I really don’t know. Maybe this is one “this isn’t for you” too many from a game that has been part of my life for over 20 years.

I haven’t bought a single Secret Lair, but I’m generally willing to accept that they’re a bonus product that isn’t needed by anyone but is wanted by some. Hell, if they put out Secret Lair: Snapcaster Mage with good art (at last), I could probably te tempted into picking one up. It would be against my better judgement, though. Something about all these “not necessary but also don’t miss out, aren’t they cool, spend more money please” products rubs me the wrong way. Playing Magic and hating capitalism are difficult interests to reconcile. That’s it. That’s the tagline for this article.

Oh, right, it’s just a blog. Never mind.

Oh, God. The Fornite Secret Lair is going to be the Snapcaster Mage one, isn’t it?

Then there’s Lord of The Rings. My pal Kristen will be thrilled about this, was my first thought. I’m less enthusiastic (shocker, right?), but at least LOTR makes sense as a thing to crossover with. I mean, apart from the obvious business sense. It doesn’t have any guns and it isn’t an obnoxiously ubiquitous battle royale FPS, so that already puts it ahead of two of the other three crossovers. Indeed, without LOTR, you can make a reasonable case that MTG would never exist in the first place. Personally, I view LOTR in the same way I view The Beatles – they were important, and worthy of respect, but have been surpassed in every way since.

And the movies are better than the books. There I said it.

Regardless, this one is fine, actually. I still don’t particularly care for crossovers in general, especially as the setting for a standard set, but at least it makes sense this time.

Shut up Already

Alright, I hear you. I know a lot of that was negative towards the end, but I want to reiterate that a lot of the stuff happening in standard sets next year is really exciting, if a little unoriginal. The crossover/sellout stuff and the interminable deluge of FOMO-driven products is worrying and disappointing, but I guess we just have to try and ignore the ever-increasing number of “not for you” products and focus on the stuff we do like. Seriously, Neon Destiny looks amazing, and I don’t even like anime.

[ahgaseda]

enough | four

even if everyone else leaves me, you’re enough for me, you’re my only one, stand by me forever, only you, just you...

summary : to survive as a single woman in the big city, you resort to letting rich men pay for your company, but never anticipated that your first client would be the boy you once loved, Jinyoung.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, references to prostitution, mentions of gang activity, graphic sexual content, potentially triggering elements involving mental health, panic attacks, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

Fingertips delicately brushing over your arm pulled you from peaceful dreams. Dreams of Jinyoung and how he used to smile. How you would squeeze his cheeks between your palms when he tried to hide behind his hand, afraid to show his teeth. It had taken you years to break him of that habit.

Humming with contentment, your eyes blinked sluggishly. You could feel the morning light filtering through and warming your skin with golden hues.

The body radiating heat behind you snared your attention in a heartbeat. You smiled when you felt him breathing heavily at your back. He had been sound asleep as well, but just couldn’t resist a touch of your soft skin as he started to wake.

His fingers continued tracing senseless patterns up and down your arm. You shivered at the pads of his fingers, shuffling backwards and even deeper into his embrace while he spooned you in his oversized bed. You glanced up, noting the sun was rising higher outside the window; a sign the two of you had slept quite late.

Jinyoung called your name sweetly and with a smile, you turned to face him. Closing your eyes, you burrowed yourself against his firm chest, tucking your head beneath his chin and draping your legs over his thighs.

“Good morning to you, too,” he teased, an arm coming to wrap tightly around your waist in gentle possession. Jinyoung would normally hide his smirk, but given your position against him, you wouldn’t see it and so he smirked freely.

You didn’t leave me, was the first thing that came to mind, but instead you hummed sleepily. Then, you giggled as his fingertips slipped beneath your shirt and began to dance up your spine.

After squinting against the sun to read the clock on the nightstand, Jinyoung sighed heavily and whispered, “Baby, I have to go.”

You shook your head adamantly, setting your hands to his shirt and gripping him as tightly as you could.

Jinyoung flushed at your newfound affection though in his many, many memories with you, you were always clingy in bed. He chuckled when you began to circle your arms and legs around him, like you could physically prevent him from leaving.

“I have business,” he told you, grabbing one of your hands and bringing your knuckles to his lips for a few appeasing kisses.

“Don’t leave,” you whined in a sleepy daze. “I finally have you back.”

Jinyoung melted, leaning in and kissing your brow. He cradled your head in the bend of his elbow and his hand trailed down your hip, guiding your thigh to hook higher on his waist. Pulling you closer into his warmth, Jinyoung met your opening eyes for only a second before capturing your lips in a heart-stopping kiss that made you smile against his mouth.

But the moment you drifted back to sleep, he was gone.

Jinyoung wanted to be angry with you, to punish you for leaving him behind. God knows his heart was still somewhere in a million tiny pieces on that driveway you left him on, but the caveat was Jinyoung didn’t actually want to hurt you.

Yes, he wanted you to suffer, but only in moderation.

When you finally came to, you wanted to be furious at being abandoned, but you were too overcome with a sense of victory after the events of the night before. Not only had Jinyoung pleasured you, but he allowed you to fall asleep in his arms and for the first time in nearly four years, you slept like a baby.

You had forgotten how it felt to wake up beside him, feeling the pads of his fingers caressing your bare skin. He was insatiable when it came to your body against his. Jinyoung always had to have his hands on you. You were his and he was yours.

Well rested but anticipating a long day, you crawled out of bed and raked your hands through your disheveled hair. Approaching the floor to ceiling windows, you gazed out at Seoul and its bustling, morning energy. You preferred the view at night, when the endless landscape of colors reflected into the darkness of the bedroom.

Turning around, you finally noticed your clothes folded neatly on the dresser. The same dresser Jinyoung had pinned you to the night before. Proceeding to gather your things, you smiled when you saw the note placed on top.

Sorry not sorry for ripping your shirt. I will buy you another, said the note in Jinyoung’s scribbled handwriting. You let out a giggle, rolling your eyes in amusement before tucking the paper into your bra for safe-keeping.

When you stepped into the living area, having dressed and tamed your hair, you greeted Jackson and Yugyeom, both of whom were absorbed in their phones while a cooking show played on the enormous flat screen in the background.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Yugyeom replied with a broad grin that scrunched his nose. “You scared us last night.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized sweetly.

Wiggling his eyebrows playfully, Jackson asked, “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded and skipped to the adjoining kitchen, saying, “Yes, I was rewarded with a very nice orgasm.”

Yugyeom dropped his phone and clapped his hands loudly. “That explains why boss was in such a good mood,” he quipped, earning a sharp elbow from Jackson.

You snorted.

Pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and taking a sip, you asked with a pout, “Why did he have to leave so early?”

“It wasn’t early. It was almost ten,” said Jackson, pretending to chide.

You shrugged, bringing the glass to your lips and peering over the rim. The penthouse still floored you with its scale and size. Jinyoung couldn’t cook. He would never need this amount of space for a kitchen. It was sheer indulgence, plain and simple.

Jinyoung never cared about money, never sought after it. He said money made people crazy. Power, on the other hand, was his weakness. Setting down your glass, you mulled over what kind of business pulled Jinyoung out of bed with you.

Before you could ask any potentially dangerous questions, Yugyeom’s phone chimed and after reading, he said, “We’re under strict orders to take you back to your house. Boss ordered you brunch and it will be delivered there.”

“He said you have classes later,” Jackson added, rising and pulling on his jacket.

You grimaced. Thinking about studying paled in comparison to having Jinyoung on your mind. Nevertheless, classes weren’t going to pass themselves. “Actually I have study sessions for exams today. They’re next week.”

Yugyeom grabbed his keys and gave them a jingle. “Well, let’s hit the road then.”

The atmosphere was different from the day before. Any tension and anger you had been harboring was long gone. In fact, you smiled the entire way to your new home, especially with the way Jackson and Yugyeom bickered like an old married couple.

When Yugyeom pulled into your driveway, a delivery car was already waiting, handing Jackson a pair of rather large bags. The bodyguard tipped the boy handsomely and you eagerly rushed inside to scan the goods.

“Why is this kid spoiling me, but won’t let me spoil him?” you asked in a whine, pulling the food from the brown paper bags.

Yugyeom replied dryly, “Because he’s a manly man with a whole lot of pride.”

You retorted, “I just want to suck the soul out of him.”

Jackson grabbed a fork and deadpanned, “We never said he was smart.”

You laughed.

The three of you ate together like you had been best friends for years. Jackson and Yugyeom could hit the road as a comedic team with the way they bounced off of each other and made you cackle until your stomach hurt.

When you had finished your meal, you proceeded to clean up and bid the boys farewell. Yugyeom held you snugly when you hugged him and earned a slap on the back from Jackson.

“This is awkward,” Jackson chuckled. “We aren’t actually leaving.”

“Oh?” you questioned, brows raised.

“I drive. He...,” Yugyeom hesitated.

“Watch. I keep watch,” Jackson interjected, flashing a comforting grin.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “The two of you aren’t going into the study sessions with me, are you?”

Jackson waved his hands. “Of course not. Yugyeom will drive us and I will just hang out around campus. As far as you’re concerned, I’m a prospective student that loves to gab around the quad.”

“Okay,” you said, skeptical.

After a long, hot shower, you dressed comfortably and readied your backpack with notebooks and textbooks and any other books needed for your study sessions until your bag weighed a thousand pounds.

When your phone rang, you smiled at the screen and answered, “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Jinyoung greeted, as if he had forgotten he was saved in your contacts now. “I just wanted to check in.”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning, pleased at how much he had softened in the past twenty-four hours, and murmured bashfully, “I’m glad you did.”

Jinyoung took note of your tone and smiled, not that you could see it. “Am I interrupting classes?”

“No, I’m about to leave,” you replied, hoisting the backpack onto your shoulder. “Apparently Jackson and Yugyeom are babysitting me.”

“You can send them away anytime you want. I just thought having the two of them around would make things easier for you.”

There was always a certain note in Jinyoung’s tone when he lied. His voice sounded like a news anchor telling you reassuringly that everything would be fine whilst the world was literally on fire. You weren’t an idiot. Most of the girls already warned you that on occasion their wealthy clients kept tabs on them. Security protocols and whatnot.

At your brief silence, Jinyoung decided to change the subject. “Which exam will you be prepping for?”

“Statistics. It’s actually a lot of fun when it’s applied to situations rather than dull numbers on a sheet like in regular math.”

Jinyoung wrinkled his nose. In no way, shape or form was any variation of math fun. But he enjoyed your enthusiasm. “Uh-huh. And which class is kicking your ass?”

“That would be physics,” you droned with loathing. “I’m afraid its fundamentals are completely lost on me.”

Noting the clock, you headed out the door in search of your babysitters.

“What does physics have to do with becoming a doctor?”

“Oh, a question I have asked myself many, many times since I discovered I would have to take not one, but two semesters of it,” you joked, following Jackson to the car. “I think it’s primary function is to weed out the weak ones.”

“In that case, kick its ass right back,” said Jinyoung, eyes flickering when the door at the opposite end of the warehouse opened.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you glanced at Yugyeom as he backed the car out of the drive and lowered your tone, “Will I see you again tonight?”

Jinyoung exhaled loudly and your heart sank. “Afraid not. I have a lot of work to do.”

You sulked, wanting to press the issue, but knowing full well Jinyoung was a stone wall. “Oh,” was all you said.

Hearing the disappointment, Jinyoung shifted his weight, looking down at his shoes. You made him like a crazy, hormonal teenager all over again. He just wanted to spend every waking moment with you, listening to you talk excitedly about things he didn’t give a shit about if only to hear the joy in your voice. He missed the simple days of having time alone on the couch with you and a boring ass movie, which was a perfect excuse to pull you beneath him and mar your beautiful skin with hickies.

Jinyoung cleared his throat, snapping out of the thought.

Gripping the phone a little tighter, you started, “Jinyoung, I…”

There was a sudden influx of noise in the background and Jinyoung grumbled under his breath, “I have to go. Study hard, baby.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but the line went dead.

Flustered, you glared at the phone. I love you, was what you had wanted to say, but you choked. What if he didn’t say it back just to torture you?

His words from your first night as your client rolled back into your mind, Imagine that - having to pay for the love of my life... Once upon a time, that’s what you had been. It didn’t mean he still felt the same way. In fact, his level of bitterness could only be from losing one’s love.

Jinyoung was tempered now. He was grown. And you leaving him had partially shaped him into the man he had become. And that could be a man no longer capable of trusting and loving you as he once had.

That notion made you want to cry and you quickly shook your head, freeing your mind of its obsession with Jinyoung. As Yugyeom drove, you pulled out the physics textbook and proceeded to read, drowning yourself in mundane words that only seemed to repeat.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Jinyoung slid the phone into his back pocket and moved back to Jaebeom’s side, scowling at the abrupt arrival of his unpredictable ally.

Jiwon was ambitious. In fact, he was specifically after Jinyoung’s spot, a fact Jinyoung was well aware of and why he chose to keep Jiwon in the loop of some of his business dealings. The problem was Jiwon embodied everything Jinyoung despised in a business partner.

He was loud, flashy. Had no respect for law enforcement and how easily they could unravel the threads that held everything together. He dabbled in contraband that Jinyoung would never dare involve himself with and tended to fly by the seat of his pants rather than plan anything out.

Jiwon took the last drag out of a cigarette before tossing it to the floor. “Jinyoung-ie, how goes it, brother?”

“You’re late,” Jinyoung sneered. “As usual.”

“Deepest apologies,” Jiwon mocked, putting a hand over his heart. “I was distracted by some Daegu pussy, but I’m here now.”

“Fantastic,” Jinyoung groaned.

Jiwon raked a tongue over his teeth and said, “Speaking of hot pieces of ass, I saw that little slice of yours.”

Jinyoung’s eyes hardened and his voice came out a slow growl, “Excuse me?”

“You know the one I’m talking about,” Jiwon continued, grinning. “Walks around smiling like a little princess, but I bet she loves it rough. Doesn’t she, Jinyoung-ie?”

Jinyoung could feel his blood boiling. Suddenly, everything in the room was painted in red hues. How he had always despised Jiwon, but now, he was talking himself into the nearest harbor.

Jaebeom shuffled slightly, feeling the tension. His eyes were hot enough to burn coal.

Jinyoung stepped closer, lowering his voice in a warning. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Ever heard that phrase, Jiwon?”

Jiwon nodded. “Of course.”

“Don’t ever be deluded into thinking I keep you around because I cherish your company,” Jinyoung hissed.

Jiwon clapped his hands. “Shit, she is the bitch you’ve been holding out for. I’m impressed.”

Jinyoung set his jaw. He couldn’t lose his composure, couldn’t let this asshole know what you meant to him. Instead, he warned calmly, “You’re walking on thin ice with me.”

“Do I sense some panic in your voice, Jinny? After all, if I saw her, others may have, too.”

Jinyoung switched tactics. “What do you want?”

Jiwon held up his arms and shrugged, noncommittal. “I know I notoriously play both sides, but there’s a deal going down and I want you on my side.”

Jinyoung's expression hardened. “I don’t take sides in that bullshit you play. I notoriously stay in my niche. You know I don’t get involved in the corruption game.”

“Well, today you do. My team is going to hijack a shipment and you’re going to help me.”

“And if I don’t?” Jinyoung asked with a tilt of his head.

Jiwon sucked in a breath between his teeth, to make it sound like he was almost wincing. He blithely took out his phone, turning the screen to give Jinyoung a view. The picture was of you, smiling at a classmate with books held in your arms.

“I know plenty of bad, bad men that could break in such a good girl for you.”

The words had barely made their way from his mouth before Jinyoung was on him, grabbing Jiwon by the collar and shaking him like a ragdoll. When his guard made a move with a measly switchblade, Jaebeom calmly put a hand on the gun attached to his belt.

“I will kill you,” Jinyoung hissed in his face. “Do you hear me?”

Jiwon sneered, “You of all people should have known better than to give in to your weakness.”

Jinyoung was ready to rip him inside out and that was evident as he spoke, “Weakness is the last thing you will think of when you think of me.”

But Jiwon merely laughed, a sound devoid of pity or fear. “I own you now.”

Jinyoung released him roughly and held his ground, watching Jiwon slink away with a broad, impish grin.

Jaebeom moved closer and murmured in hushed tones, “He won’t do anything.”

“Have her brought to my place,” Jinyoung whispered, hands trembling. “Now!”

It was late afternoon when you finished your study sessions, feeling confident in your ability to ace the oncoming exam. With statistics prep out of the way, you devoted yourself to the neverending battle between you and physics.

Jinyoung had already said he wouldn’t be able to see you tonight. With that thought, you donned an overgrown sweater and some knee-high socks to keep your feet warm. Then, you plopped on your bed and cracked open the books.

Time passed swiftly and you were shocked to see the sun had faded from view just outside your window. Taking a quick and hard earned reprieve, you massaged your aching hand, tense from the overabundance of notes you were scribbling, and you jolted on the bed when Yugyeom burst unannounced into your room.

“What the hell,” you exclaimed, tugging down your sweater to hide your exposed thighs.

Yugyeom panted, “Boss wants me to bring you to the penthouse.”

You relaxed, but rolled your eyes over the needless interruption. “He said no booty calls tonight.”

“He wants to see you. Something has upset him, but they won’t tell me more than that.”

That tidbit of information intrigued you. “Okay, but I’m bringing my books to study while I wait.”

“Fine by me.”

Jackson’s behavior was your first red flag. Rather than his jovial, talkative self, his eyes were on the surroundings, watching and waiting like something could be lurking just beyond. In fact, he didn’t say a word as he opened the car door and slammed it shut behind you.

Jaebeom’s behavior was your second red flag. He was there at the building to greet you, opening your door and grasping your elbow to practically hoist you out of the car. Managing to sling your backpack over your shoulder, you asked, “Has it finally happened? The zombie apocalypse?”

Your joke fell on deaf ears.

Jaebeom looked to Jackson and said, “Basement.”

Jackson nodded his understanding, then turned to you and said, “Go with Jaebeom.”

You merely bobbed your head before Jaebeom ushered you to the back elevator. You crossed paths with the friendly Mr. Jung, who discreetly accepted a roll of bills from Jaebeom’s outstretched hand.

Heat flared across your cheeks. Jinyoung was going to get a piece of your mind when you saw him. All this sneaking about and acting like at any moment a sniper was going to drop you. Then, your heart fell somewhere in the pit of your stomach. Years away had let you forget the constant feeling of living in danger.

The gangs had turned your home into a warzone. Suddenly, you were right back where you started and the thought made your eyes water.

“Where is Jinyoung?” you asked in the elevator.

“On his way,” Jaebeom answered shortly.

You almost hadn’t expected an answer. Jinyoung clearly was putting you on lockdown. You peered up at Yugyeom and he offered a gentle smile, as clueless as you were. At least, you weren’t alone.

Jackson vanished into the darkness of the basement, the echo of his footsteps ricocheting off of the concrete walls. Spotting the only other person inside, he called out, “Jaebeom is on guard. Now, what the hell happened?”

Jinyoung stepped out of the shadows and said, “That bastard has a picture of her on his phone. He showed it to me.”

Jackson appeared unfazed. “Alright, we will increase security and I can…”

Jinyoung whirled around and grabbed the nearest crate, shoving it into a heap rolling across the ground. Then, he roared, “How could I be so stupid?”

Jackson shook his head. “You’re not.”

“I kept my distance for almost five goddamn years,” Jinyoung shouted, angry and scared. “I was good. I knew it was safer that way while I did what I had to do. But she broke me. The minute I found out she was gonna sell herself, I had to jump in.”

“I know,” said Jackson, unmoving.

Jinyoung’s next words came out shakily, “I have a whole list of enemies that will tear her apart in front of me.”

Jackson reminded firmly, “We’re better than them.”

“Are we? Because I’m losing my fucking mind at just the thought of someone laying a hand on her!”

“No one will.”

Jinyoung was the epitome of composure. He never lost his temper and he never allowed himself to be a slave to his emotions, which was why an outburst such as this was exceedingly rare. Jinyoung didn’t know what to do when his heart took hold, but Jackson did.

“I made a lot of enemies. I tore people apart to get here. You know that, brother,” Jinyoung choked, tears in his eyes. “None of them would bat an eye at taking her away.”

Jackson knew that was enough. He stepped forward and grasped Jinyoung by the shoulders, levelling his voice, “Stop and listen to me for a second. Why do you have me and Jaebeom? Why does Mark spend almost every waking hour behind a computer?”

Jinyoung stilled.

“The answer is for bullshit like this. Do you have any idea how many threats we have neutralized before they got to you?”

Jinyoung snorted. “Would you like a raise?”

Jackson chortled and waved him away. “You pay me more than enough.”

Jinyoung put his hands on his hips and lowered his gaze to the ground in shame, shaking his head from side to side. “I should send her away. I should leave her.”

“It’s too late for that. They know she’s your baby.”

“Yeah, she is.” Jinyoung slumped in defeat.

Jackson simpered. “It happens to all of us, brother.”

Jinyoung relented. No one could talk him down like Jackson.

Jackson looked at him expectantly, seeing Jinyoung had calmed. Then, he cocked his head toward the elevators.

As the two headed up to the penthouse, Jinyoung asked, “How was she today?”

Jackson didn’t hesitate to sing your praises. “Exam prep is putting her through the ringer, but I’ve never seen someone so determined to kick school’s ass.”

Jinyoung snickered. That sounded like you. When you got knocked down, you laughed and got back up. When you set your mind to something, no one could stop you. Jinyoung frowned, wondering at what moment you had decided to leave him all those years ago.

“And she constantly checks her phone, waiting for you to text her,” Jackson added, leaning back against the rail. “When you checked on her this morning, you should have seen her smile.”

“Stop making it worse,” Jinyoung grumbled, shooting him an insincere glare.

Jackson beamed. “You’re welcome.”

Nestled comfortably on your side in Jinyoung’s bed, you poured over your textbooks, filling your pages with notes. Flashcards lay in a messy crescent around you. All a result of you trying to distract yourself from Jinyoung.

Inevitably, you crashed, falling asleep in the warmth and comfort of his bed. Your brain was exhausted from absorbing so much information, and the city lights and soft music had lulled you to sleep. If his playlist was any indication, Jinyoung preferred melancholy, slow songs to soothe his aching heart.

You would fix that later, but for now, you rested.

Jinyoung breezed through the kitchen, tugging off his jacket and draping it over the couch in the living area. Glancing around, he turned back to the bodyguard and asked, “Where is she?”

“Bedroom,” was all Jackson said.

“You can go now,” Jinyoung sang, dismissing him with a wave of his fingers.

Jackson chuckled and headed for the elevator.

Jinyoung entered his room ever so quietly, letting out a long exhale of relief when he saw you sound asleep within a ring of textbooks and study materials. First, he unfastened his button-up and discarded it on the bedpost. Then, one by one, he pulled your books from around you and stacked them neatly on the dresser.

Settling in behind you, Jinyoung contoured his body to yours, propping his head on his arm while his free hand landed on your hip and began to curl around your waist. He just needed you safely in his arms. If anyone so much as gave you a sideways glance, there would be hell to pay.

Jinyoung remembered why he had joined the gang in the first place - to protect you. He learned that when you can’t beat them, join them. But he had never expected that would be the tipping point. He joined the gang and you left him. Ever since that day, Jinyoung had warred with himself over his decision. Maybe you had seen it as betrayal. Even when he explained that he had done it for the both of you, you didn’t accept that and you sure as hell didn’t forgive him.

And then, you were gone.

Jinyoung realized he had been the only one keeping you tied there. You had given up on everything and everyone else, and then he cut the final cord. Sometimes he told himself it was the right thing to do. You were able to leave and find a new life, the life you had always wanted.

But Jinyoung always wanted to be a part of that life. Not many kids could say they had found their soulmate and Jinyoung, as much as he hated the notion, knew you were the person he was meant to spend his life with. There was never any doubt in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered under his breath, knowing you weren’t listening. I gave you no choice, he pondered sadly. Tightening his grasp around your body, he tucked his face to your hair and lingered in the scent of you. He just needed to hold you until he found his strength again.

You hummed quietly in your sleep; a tiny inconsequential noise that completely set his veins ablaze. Your body instinctively shuffled back, seeking his warmth and the constant of him beside you. Jinyoung raked his eyes down your form, intent on your bare thighs. For fuck’s sake, had you come to his penthouse in a sweater and knee-high socks and nothing else?

Jinyoung brushed his fingers through your hair, exposing your neck, and left a few gentle kisses at the curve of your shoulder. “Bad girl,” he whispered darkly in your ear.

Your lashes fluttered before your eyes opened, and you immediately shuddered at the feel of his wet lips on your neck. “Jinyoung…,” you sighed.

“Hi, baby,” he replied, mischievous. “How many people saw these pretty thighs today?”

You could hear the jealousy in his tone and it made you smirk. “They rushed me here urgently.”

“I will let it slide…,” he said, nipping at your ear. “This time.”

You reached back to grab a handful of his thick hair, tugging him forward so you could mold your lips to his in a kiss. You had missed him deeply. Jinyoung let you, though his hand began to wander. You felt yourself melting into his kisses, slow and warm, that when his fingers slipped beneath your sweater, you didn’t notice until a digit hooked in the band of your underwear.

Pulling at his hair, you took his lip between your teeth and yanked gently. Then, meeting his eyes, you whispered, “Those are a present for you.”

“For me?” he asked, clearly piqued.

“Mm-hm.”

Jinyoung gave you a chaste peck on the corner of your mouth in farewell, then he moved down your body to get a better look. You watched him push the hem of your sweater up to your ribs, exposing the cute pink panties you were wearing. After biting his lip with appreciation toward the view, he began kissing his way up your thigh.

“Rough day?” you asked anxiously.

“The worst,” he huffed, proceeding to suck a blemish on your hip.

You choked out a word that sounded vaguely like his name, squeezing your thighs together to calm the aching in your core at how close he was to your most intimate part. Jinyoung, with his kisses alone, could have you completely pliant beneath him, begging him to give you release.

Jinyoung called your name.

“Hm?”

His lips broke from your skin and he lifted his head to look you dead in the eyes. “I’m gonna eat this pussy.”

Your eyes widened and your heart promptly thundered inside your chest. “...You have my permission.”

Jinyoung flashed his teeth in a smile at the dumbfounded look on your face and said, “Good.”

Your lover lifted your leg, letting it rest on his shoulder as he buried his face against your clothed folds, giving your cunt open-mouthed kisses. Your head fell back and you tried to roll onto your back, but Jinyoung held your hips in a vice and kept you on your side. He never gave an inch.

You reached down to thread your fingers into his messy hair, remembering how much he loved when you raked your nails through his locks while he sucked you dry. Sensitive after the years apart, you trembled with the way he kissed your pussy like he was starved. He flattened his tongue between your lower lips, tasting your essence through the fabric of your panties.

“Babe,” he called from between your legs, voice having descended an octave or two with lust. “As much as I love my present…”

You felt him winding his fists through the material and before you could reply, the panties snapped like they never stood a chance.

“They’re in my way,” Jinyoung finished with a dark smile, peeling the torn remains from your body and tossing them over his shoulder.

“I loved those,” you pouted, trying to sound sulky and not meaning a single word.

“I’ll buy you ten more,” Jinyoung said impatiently, bringing his lips to your bare pussy and taking a long, hungry lap of the arousal slipping between your folds.

You let out a noise and it completely embarrassed you, which could only mean Jinyoung loved it and wanted to hear it again as soon as possible. His arms tangled through your thighs, round your hips, and he kneaded your flesh in tandem with the sucking and licking of your cunt. You stole a breath and held it, trying to keep your sounds at bay lest you give him any more reason to tease you.

But that only spurred him on more. Jinyoung glanced up from your glistening pussy to see the tension on your face, his cock twitching in his jeans as he watched you grab a handful of the blanket and try to hide your face against it. He stroked your beautiful hips, squeezed your plump ass, and nipped your soft thighs.

Jinyoung was tempted to taunt, to ask you how it felt to have him pump his tongue inside your wet cunt, but by the look on your face, that was answer enough. He watched your breasts rise and fall and decided he would suck those next when he finished making you come.

The room filled with the sounds of his tongue and lips working your soaked pussy, your whimpering and airy moans of his name, and the moody playlist still playing on loop in the background. You suddenly remembered the windows, where all of Seoul could be watching the view of his head between your thighs, but then you were reminded the glass was tinted.

What a shame.

Jinyoung found your swollen clit and teased it between his teeth. Your lower body immediately arched away from his mouth and a loud involuntary moan left you. Your clit was a live wire, hypersensitive from years of neglect, and each time he touched it, your stomach tightened.

Given your reaction, Jinyoung made your bundle of nerves his main target. He latched his lips to the nub and rolled it with his tongue, grinning when you could no longer fight back your noises of pleasure. His jeans were unbearably tight, cock moving on its own accord with the lewd squelches of your pussy begging to be filled by every inch of him.

You clawed your fingers through his hair, tugging hard to slow him down, and whimpered, “Jinyoung, oh… god. You’re gonna make me come.”

“That’s kinda the point,” he retorted, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your inner thigh.

Your clit was throbbing, pulsing, and every touch of his tongue was pushing you hard toward the edge. You wrenched your fist in the blanket and chanted, “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t…”

Suddenly, a hand crept between your breasts, fingers finding your throat and getting a solid grip.

“Jinyoung,” you choked, though his name barely made it out of your mouth.

Jinyoung squeezed and your whining stopped. You held his wrist in your hand, the other still tangled in his hair, and accepted you were along for the ride.

He was merciless against your clit, desperate to give you climax. His hold on your neck went slack after you had calmed and you felt more arousal gush from your folds at his show of dominance.

“Fuck,” you cursed, flexing your legs as your body tried to curl away from the stimulation.

Jinyoung reeled his hand back and landed a swat on your ass, smiling against your pussy with the way you squeaked.

“Jinyoung,” you cried out in disbelief, reaching toward his arm that held your thigh. You could feel taut, bulging muscles beneath the sleeve and knew you were wholly at his mercy.

A loud smack resounded through the room as another hit connected with your ass and Jinyoung sucked your clit like he had run out of patience and it was time to come.

Begging for mercy in a whine, you dropped your head to the mattress, hair falling wildly over your face and you arched your hips against his mouth, bouncing your ass into his face. Jinyoung coaxed his hand over your heated flesh, leisurely tracing your skin to give you an ever-present reminder how quickly he could spank you again if you misbehaved.

With every breath, you let out some mortifying sound. Your clit thrummed and the scalding heat at the apex of your thighs was about to spill over and ruin you.

Without warning, Jinyoung pulled away from your aching pussy and was chest-to-chest with you in the blink of an eye, his hand still poised around your throat.

Once he had your undivided attention, his hand landed on your folds.

You cried out in surprise.

“You wanna come for me?”

Before you could answer, his palm landed on your sex again.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted hurriedly. You were right on the edge, so close you could taste it. “Please let me come.”

Jinyoung bit his lip, failing to hide a smile. His pupils were blown wide, lost in arousal and pleasure. Bringing his mouth to your neck, his wet lips pressed kisses beneath your ear, and then he whispered, “On my face or on my cock?”

It was a no contest decision. “On your cock,” you replied without missing a beat, eyes wide and expectant. “Please.”

Jinyoung tapped the flat of his hand on your pussy to some random rhythm, keeping you lingering near the edge. Every brief moment of pressure on your clit was enough to make you press your thighs together.

“Please,” you said again.

Jinyoung shook his head in amusement, flashing a devilish smile at how far gone you were already. “You want me to fuck you, huh?” he teased, slipping his tongue over your bottom lip, red from where you had been biting.

“More than anything.”

Jinyoung let his gaze lock with yours momentarily before he smirked and moved back between your legs, finding your entrance with his mouth again and lapping his tongue inside.

Disappointed but not surprised that you wouldn’t be getting dick that night, you focused on your orgasm, hoping and praying he would finally give it to you.

With every roll of your hips, Jinyoung connected a smack to your ass and the sound ricocheted into your ears. You could feel your cheeks heating up, enough pressure on your neck to cloud your mind, and his name became a constant chant from your lips. Just the way he liked it.

Jinyoung returned to your clit and with his mouth, commanded your body to give him what he wanted. The intensity of release washed over you and by the way you shuddered in his grasp, Jinyoung knew you were suspended in ecstasy, but he didn’t slow down. He kept taking your clit between his lips and stimulating past your threshold.

You tapped out, tearing out of his grasp and pushing at his head until he finally set you free. Jinyoung rose to his knees and pushed you roughly to your back, gazing down at the mess he had made. You panted for breath and closed your eyes, waiting for your body to settle back down from its constant shaking.

“That pussy is still mine,” Jinyoung whispered in his gruff dialect, giving your dripping folds one last look.

When he began to move away from you, you came back to your senses and grabbed his wrist before he could get far.

Jinyoung turned to you in surprise.

“Why would you rather jack off than let me have you?” you asked desperately.

His reply was terse, “I got what I needed.”

You frowned. “Please.”

He cocked a brow and his tone was a little harsher than intended, “Please what?”

You were laid bare before him and it showed in your voice. “Touch me.”

Jinyoung was back to the game of refusing to give you what you wanted most. “Where do you want me to touch you?” he asked under his breath.

“Everywhere,” you admitted breathlessly.

He smirked, roaming his hand down your inner thigh. “Hard or gentle?”

Your lashes fluttered. “Both. Either.”

Then, he shifted mercurially and snapped, “Why would I? I’m angry with you.”

You said the first thing you thought would fix that. “I’m sorry.”

“You left me.”

As if you had forgotten. “Jinyoung…,” you started, reaching for him.

“Do your homework,” he told you dismissively.

The blood drained from your face and you gripped him tighter. “No, no, Jinyoung. Please.”

“Give me a reason.”

You yelled, “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

He shrugged, and the gesture was absolutely maddening. “No, it does nothing for me.”

Anger danced up your spine and you spit venom, “Fuck you.”

Jinyoung took your jaw in his hand, leering down at you. The dominant streak you were praising only moments before was now front and center. “Test me one more time,” he hissed in warning. “I dare you.”

You stared up at him and hesitated. His eyes were intense, smoldering. You finally offered up one last plea, “At least let me watch.”

Jinyoung tilted his head. He expected you to say anything to appease him, but that certainly wasn’t one of them. “Shirt off,” he ordered lowly, making short work of his own top.

Pulling the sweater up and over your head, you lay beneath him and spread your legs invitingly. Jinyoung got comfortable on his knees between your thighs and began unbuckling his belt. You reached forward to help, but he swiftly batted your hands away.

Your eyes didn’t know where to settle. He was so much more muscular than before. The boy you knew was strong, but lanky. Food was a commodity back then, not a right. His arms and chest bulged with strength, and you had never seen such a chiseled set of abs in your life. Then, you caught sight of his happy trail and followed it all the way down south.

Once unzipped, Jinyoung pushed down his jeans and boxers to free his hard cock. He was so aroused, his length curved toward his abs and the head was angry, weeping. You watched as he reached between your legs, gathering your slick on his fingers and stroking his cock with your juices.

Your mouth was watering, salivating for a taste. You wanted his dick in your mouth, to return the favor of a mind-blowing climax to him. Your eyes followed every move of his hand, distracted only by the flexing of his defined abdominal muscles when he pumped the head of his length. Your core tightened on nothing, aching to be filled, and you quickly swallowed the saliva in your mouth to keep from drooling.

“I miss sucking your dick,” you blurted, shameless.

Jinyoung let his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth, twitching at the clouded arousal in your eyes. Then, his gaze fell to your breasts and he licked his lips hungrily.

Seeing him distracted, you wrapped your hand around his shaft, circling the head and teasing his slit with your thumb. Jinyoung sucked in a hard breath through his teeth, losing any and all resolve to slap your hand away.

You hummed softly at the girth of him in your hands, remembering all the times he stretched you open. He seemed even bigger than before, but still so hard. He could move like silk inside you, fitting just right.

You peered up at him with coy eyes. “I want you inside me so bad.”

Jinyoung stroked his thumb over your wrist while you worked his length and said, “That’s cute.”

You cut him a glare and jutted out your lip in a pout. “You’re vicious.”

“No more than you,” he countered, breath stuttering at your quickening attempts to get him off. “We always did have that trait in common.”

You pumped him harder, pleased when he released a tiny moan. “Come on, baby,” you crooned. “I know you’ve been hard this whole time.”

Your words must have pushed him over the edge, because Jinyoung snatched your fingers and held your hand at bay as he fisted his cock and rapidly jerked himself to release, groaning when his seed finally came.

You trembled with lust when his release coated your stomach and breasts. Jinyoung tipped his head back and let out a long sigh of relief, satisfied for the moment. You flushed at how badly he turned you on. The pleasure on his face coaxed you to madness, wanting nothing more than push him to his back and ride him into oblivion just so you could see the ecstasy on his face again.

His self control was admirable. Yours was dead and buried.

“Wait here,” Jinyoung said, clambering off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

You wanted to be a smartass, but didn’t have the energy. As far as you were concerned, it was night and you weren’t leaving his bed until morning.

When Jinyoung returned, he told you, “Hot bath is ready.”

You sat up and asked, “What about you?”

He seemed confused. “What about me?”

“Can we… talk or something?”

Jinyoung studied you, naked save for your socks. You just didn’t want to be parted from him, not even for a moment. With an exhale, he grabbed your thigh and removed the sock, then did the same with the other side. “Yeah, come on,” he finally relented.

You smiled victoriously and trotted yourself to the bathroom in all your nude glory, feeling his gaze on your plump backside.

Sinking into the scalding water, you hummed with delight. Jinyoung fought a smile as he lowered to sit beside the tub. You sloshed around, getting comfortable, and Jinyoung watched you with nothing short of adoration. Fuck, he was head over heels. Though he was mad as hell, everything you did was just too cute.

Propping your arms on the rim of the bathtub, you rested your head overtop and called gently, “Jinyoung?”

“Yeah, baby?”

Warmed by the gentleness of his voice, you blinked through the steam of hot water and asked, “Is there any hope for us?”

He leaned his head back against the wall, arms draped on his knees, and sighed, “I don’t believe in hope anymore.”

That tugged at your heartstrings. “Oh.”

Jinyoung kept his eyes on the ceiling, not wanting to see how sweetly you looked at him, and said, “I know you hate that I joined the gang. I’ll give you that.”

It was a start, but you were surprised to hear it. Jinyoung wasn’t the type to surrender so soon and he never admitted when he was wrong. “Then, why did you do it? After I begged and begged you not to,” you asked cautiously.

“Because I was good at it,” he confessed, finally turning back to you. “I got off on the power. I realized that for once in my life, I could have all the control.”

You shook your head. “Control is an illusion.”

“It’s not,” Jinyoung interjected and he sounded convinced. “I’ve tasted it.”

You found yourself wanting to reach over and grasp his hand, but it was too far out of reach. This was the Jinyoung you knew, who was only ever vulnerable with you when it mattered. “Was it worth it? Do you sleep well at night?”

“Same as before. That hasn’t changed.” He smiled softly and whispered, “I only sleep well when you’re beside me.”

You sighed, staring at him with affection.

Then, the obstinance returned to his face and he said, “I don’t care about all the evil things I’ve done. I did them for the right reasons.”

“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” you sang, the same way your father always did.

Jinyoung snorted. “I prefer a paved road to a rocky one.”

You were quick to tease, “So, is this the closest I will ever get to an apology?”

Jinyoung swallowed the lump in his throat and replied, “I will never ask your forgiveness for how I chose to survive without you.”

Your eyes batted with the threat of tears. Your mouth parted to say his name.

Jinyoung shushed you, grasping your jaw and leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips. For a moment, he stared into your eyes with longing. Then, without another word, he stood to his feet and left.

Your heart wanted to burst. He was still so in love with you.

← previous chapter | next chapter →

a/n : this story was previously Lacuna on my old blog, minheoney. I’m really excited to finally finish it! This fic was my baby for so long and I’m ridiculously happy to give it a new home :)

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[fallenrepublick]

can i request fluff where reader pretends not cold but maul knows otherwise and warms them up 🤗

God I miss the winter

Warnings: None

Winter sings as color fades, and in its place grows the symphony of knives that few learn to manage without a constant struggle. Those that do thrive under the barren existence in the bitter months understand with a painful amount of nihilism that it’s wiser to flow with the ice than against it. The sort of man that you were inclined to love at this point was a ringing reminder that you were not that type of person. But when you fight the cold, you tend to lose.

It was snowing. Again. The past few days had brought the accumulation of the pure substance to the highest amount of the year, the ice reaching nearly the height of the palace’s doors. All day, you had been lounging inside your room, huddled in the blankets that had been covering your bed, mostly reading. If you did leave the room, you either took the blanket with you, or dressed in layer upon layer of jackets. You didn’t like spending the day this way. If anything, you wanted to be at least in the common areas of the palace, socializing and spending time with Maul as he pieced away at his tasks for the day. But, the moment the freezing floor hit the bottom of your foot, you recoiled immediately and curled back up on the chair or the bed.

Periodically, Maul checked in on you, fearful that something may be wrong or you could be falling ill. Each time he knocked, and each time, you sat up straight, pretending that you hadn’t been completely wound into a ball seconds prior.

“You’re alright?” he would say, frowning at you as he leaned in from the doorway. “You haven’t been out. You’re not sick or upset, are you?

You would smile at him, chest tightening to force yourself not to shiver while he still could see you. “I’m fine, just a bit worn out is all!” Your voice was as cheery and positive as you could make it, really leaning in on your attempt to sound convincing. It wasn’t working as well as you wanted it to. When he heard your response, his frown only hardened, but he accepted the answer nevertheless and returned to his meetings.

Eventually, the midday light simmered into a caramel glow outside your window pane, and the sheer amount of time that you had spent in that room became apparent. Looking out at the city skyline, the outline of the sun disappearing cleanly beneath the buildings’ bodies, you wished for the ice to melt and the warmth of spring to return the life that you so dearly missed. But, the opportunity wouldn’t come for another few months, and there would soon come a day that you would need to push past your reclusivity and steel your resolve. Today would not be that day, though.

Maul didn’t knock as he entered, and it was only then that he finally saw what you had been truly doing all day. You sat in the middle of the bed, the navy sheets and comforter wrapped from the front of your torso all the way around your back and over your head, forming a spherical cocoon around you. Maul had opened his mouth to say something, but upon seeing the state you were in, had ended up simply staring at you, mouth agape and shock freezing him into place. It was too late for you to hide anything, but still, you tried.

“Hi… How uh… How was your day?” you asked him, trying to ignore the way he was looking at you as if it wasn’t obvious. “You’re back earlier than I was expecting.”

Blinking a couple times, he stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind him. “You’re cold, aren’t you?” he asked finally, the annoyance that he hadn’t realized it sooner echoing in his voice. “Of course, you are. These halls insulate practically nothing.”

You shook your head fervently, holding up your hands as you did so. “No! I’m perfectly fine. I just… felt like being comfortable today.”

He laughed, the hum of it vibrating deep in his chest. Coming up beside you on the bed, he sat close by, the heat off of him already radiating powerfully enough for you to feel it. “I know when you’re lying to me. Don’t think I don’t know you better than you know yourself.” His voice had gotten smoother if at all possible, and the smirk he gave you was enough for you to want to admit to your lie almost immediately.

“I’m really alright,” you insisted anyways, not wanting to have to be reliant on him for literally everything. “Even if I were cold, I have everything I need in here to warm me up.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but blankets and lamps only did so much.

“Be that as it may, the needs of one’s life often rests within the grasp of the desires of their heart, and it has occurred to me, my queen, that I neglected you far too much today.” He pulled the edges of the blanket towards him, engulfing himself into the mass as well, wrapping his arms around you. In no time at all, you felt heat pouring into your body, his skin warm against your own. You rested your head onto his chest, hearing his hearts beat in tandem with each other, slow and powerful in comparison to your own.

The sharp air around you fell away, and you were left with only the comfort that had been so elusive in the hours prior. “I’m sorry I worried you,” you whispered, your position making you sleepier than you would like to admit. “I didn’t want to bother you with anything, because you seemed busy.”

His hand lifted to brush at your hair, his fingers caressing your scalp, seeming to coax you into sleep. “I could never be too busy for you. Your comfort takes precedence over any duty I have, and though I may seem preoccupied at times, any and all responsibility I burden myself with pales in comparison to your needs. 

The world may be burning around me, but the fire that drives me to your aid carries with it an incandescence that no blaze could outshine.”

[dusky-dancing]

Gift of a Heartbeat - Part 1

Summary: Once Sora learns the deeper meaning of Aqua’s protection enchantment on Kairi’s necklace, he can’t help but want to add more.

Length: ~1800 words

Rating: T

Genre: Romance

In honor of the birthday boy, I wanted to post the first part of this fic in which Sora and Kairi exchange special and very personal gifts for each other. Happy Birthday, Sora!

Enjoy :)

Update: Read part 2 here!

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Sora didn’t know exactly how he’d ended up in the middle of Aqua’s study, covered in the remains of failed spell attempts. Memories of himself arriving at the Land of Departure and begging for her help to craft an enchantment flashed his mind, but all he knew in the moment was that he had to keep trying. 

He’d been restless ever since he’d found out the specifics of the protection spell Aqua had cast on Kairi’s pendant. It had briefly come up when they’d all reunited in Yen Sid’s tower, but the looming threat of Xehanort and the Organization had taken precedence. When the subject of her protection spell came up again in casual conversation and she’d spilled it’s specific intended purpose, Sora had squeezed the blue-haired mage into the tightest hug he’d ever given. 

Many thanks had spilled from his mouth, though he wasn’t sure exactly what for.

For protecting her.

For sending her to us.

To me.

And now here he was, crafting his own enchantment in the study of a Keyblade Master far more skilled in magic than he was. She stood back and observed, saying that the spectacle was worth more than any messes he made.

“The enchantment you want is extremely personal,” Aqua had said, “it’s not something that can be easily repeated, and will require equally personal touch.”

Sora didn’t complain about having to do the actual crafting on his own. It wouldn’t feel right giving Kairi a gift that had been made by someone else anyways. But the repeated failed attempts, the sheer amount of literal blood, sweat, and tears poured into its assemblage made Sora miss the days of merely plunging a Keyblade into his chest for her.

Atleast he had an excuse to be gone so long. He’d told Kairi that Aqua had agreed to train him in high level magic, and he technically wasn’t lying. Little did he know how much potion crafting and enchanting had become a hobby of hers.

Sora winced as he combined the base magical components with the custom ones once again, carefully stirring them together to the right consistency before adding another. With each failure, he’d made little steps further along and learned the various don'ts of spell-crafting.

Don’t let that sit still for too long.

Don’t breathe in those fumes.

Don’t get impatient when heating components.

To his surprise, everything had run smoothly thus far in this attempt. He added the second to last ingredient, petals of a bright red carnation, and the mixture turned an incandescent violet in color. 

That was new.

He stepped back and watched it shimmer, steady and stable. Aqua perked her head up and leaned forward, eyeing it carefully. 

“It’s ready,” she said. “Quick, add it now.” 

Just one final ingredient, a simple drop of his own blood. He’d endured enough physical and mental pain throughout the past week that a simple prick of the finger paled in comparison. A simple needle did the trick, and he held his hand as far out as he could over the basin. His pulse drummed at his fingertip, and a thought crossed his mind.

I wonder if it will feel the same for her.

Despite the fear that something could go horribly wrong, Sora couldn’t take his eyes off of the red drop as it fell from his fingertip into the mixture. A puff of steam rose from where it made contact, and the concoction turned from violet to a warm red, though still just as luminescent. 

Sora took a deep breath and pulled his hand back. The hue alternated between shades of red to the beat of his own heart. A beaming smile pulled at his lips, and Aqua gave his back a reaffirming pat.

“You did it, Sora,” she smiled proudly.

A relief-filled sigh escaped him. “Now I just have to apply it.”

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He was already waiting for her in the secret place. What was left of the evening sunlight illuminated the cave and all of their childhood drawings. He was crouching in the far corner near the door with no handle, and she could easily guess which drawing his hand was running over. At her approaching footsteps, however, he snapped his attention to the cave entrance and stood.

He’d returned from training with Aqua earlier in the day, so perhaps he was just tired and jumpy. But something seemed more off about him.

“You wanted to meet me here?”

“Yeah,” He smiled. “I got you something while I was gone.”

Kairi’s heart nearly melted. Of course Sora would be so selfless even while training. “Sora, that’s so sweet, but-” she tilted her head to the side. She’d trained with Aqua before, so she knew her training regimen - and its lack of free time for gift shopping. “How did you find the time?”

He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head. “I was with Aqua, but I wasn’t training exactly. She helped me make something.”

With a shaking hand, Sora pulled a small vial out of his pocket. It contained a luminescent red liquid, more shimmery than a normal potion. He held it carefully before her, and the hue shifted as it moved under the light.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, leaning down to get a closer look. The last few seconds only added more questions. The mystery behind it intrigued her, but she merely looked to Sora for answers.

“Can I see your necklace?” He asked.

She glanced down at the small jewel dangling in front of her collarbone. It had been a part of her wardrobe for as long as she could remember.

“Of course, but what about it?” She clutched it in her hand before standing straight. 

With a deep breath, he uncorked the vial. His whole focus was on the tiny trinket around her neck, but he broke his concentration briefly to meet her eyes. He shot her a smile, his eyes filled with enough admiration to turn her cheeks warm. She still couldn’t handle when he looked at her like that, and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to. 

He began, “Do you remember what led you to Destiny Islands?”

She glanced to the side, recalling their brief conversation in Yen Sid’s tower. “Yes,” she answered, “Aqua cast a spell of protection on me.”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Do you remember what she said when she cast that spell?”

“No?” She cocked her head to the side. “Sora what-”

“She said that it would carry you to the light of another. That they would protect you when your heart was in danger.”

Kairi opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. There had always been one person who’d protected her heart. One person whose light welcomed her own in when others sought after it. One person who’d made stupid reckless sacrifices to save her. And that person was-

“Me. It led you to me, Kairi.” His eyes reddened with tears that she hoped were from happiness. She fought back her own, because whenever he cried, she cried. He continued, “And I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect gift.”

 A few tears escaped her defenses and came out with a nervous laugh. “Sora,” she pleaded with her voice, knowing her heart couldn’t take much more. 

“I made a promise to you, that I’d always be with you,” he continued, “and I wanted to get you something to remind you, no matter where you are, no matter what you’re going through, no matter how far apart we are. My heart is with you.”

Before she could speak, he lifted his free hand to trace a sigil in the air. His fingers moved quickly, but she could swear they were shaking. He spoke an incantation in a language she’d never heard before, and the contents of the vial glowed. She flinched when the glass vial shattered, but rooted herself in place. The natural light around them dimmed. No longer contained, the magical red glow rippled outward and danced around them, showering her in sparks. He took one step closer, and she reminded herself to breathe, completely hypnotized by it all. 

Gently, he touched two fingers to her pendant. His hand was shaking, and she would’ve held it within her own to calm him, were she not frozen in place. The magic surrounding her followed his movement and quickly converged on the small jewel. She drew in a quick breath at the sudden motion and squeezed his hand - when had he taken her hand? He gave her a gentle squeeze as reassurance. 

After what felt like an eternity, the glow slowly faded. The cave around them returned to normal. 

At first, nothing felt different. But in the still silence, Kairi felt the slightest little vibration against her chest. It was soft, rhythmic, and barely noticeable. She reached up to grasp the pendant exactly like she had a million times before. At her touch, the sound amplified exponentially within her mind. It had been faint before, but now it was unmistakable.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

“I-” she choked out, shaking her head in disbelief.

He looked at her with a bashful sense of wonder in his eyes. “Did it work?” 

A heartbeat.

It quickened as she held it longer. With the way he was looking at her, she knew whose it was.

His heartbeat.

She couldn’t hold it in any longer and stumbled forward, throwing her arms around his waist and pressing her head to his chest. She had to hear for herself, and sure enough, the rapid beating next to her ear confirmed what she’d already known.

The cracks in the dam behind her eyes burst, shedding tears onto his shirt. His own arms encased her in return, and she never wanted to let him go. 

This was real.

He wasn’t a dream.

And if anyone, including herself, tried to tell her otherwise, the proof was right in front of her. Even if their memories faded or were stolen away, their hearts would always remain true.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He tilted his head down and kissed the top of her hair. “I love you too, Kairi. Always will.”

She giggled and pulled back to look up at him. He’d been crying too, and her heart overflowed with more love and admiration that she ever thought existed. Her hand came up again to feel his heartbeat through her pendant, gripping it like it contained her whole life - in that moment, it really did. She cupped his face and brushed away his tears with her thumb. 

“You realize that now I’ll always be able to tell when you’re lying,” she smirked. 

“Like I’d ever lie to you.” He returned the favor against her own tears.

She smiled, not caring that joyful tears continued to fall down her cheek and onto his hand. “Alright, you win gifts this year.”

He smiled triumphantly and laughed, and her eyes shifted from his face down to his crown necklace.

For now.

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Thank you for reading! Part two should be out within the next couple of weeks hopefully! I’ll post an update if anything changes :)

This fic was born when @phoenix-downer posted some headcanons about what Sora and Kairi would get each other for the holidays a few months ago. The idea of them enchanting jewelry with each others’ heartbeats kept growing and developing, and now here we are! Thank you for being inspiring as always :)

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

Hey could I maybe request Helena stopping mc from losing her temper and turning to the dark side? If you know what I mean. Like Helena manages to calm her or do something to help mc regain control of her temper

I think I know what you mean, anon! Basically, MC has the Witch Queen’s powers and she almost loses control of her temper and wreaks havoc; do correct me if I’m wrong though lol! Thanks for your request and I hope you enjoy, lovely!

Side note: This was a lot of fun to write in terms of experimenting with pacing and tone. I got to explore on how to convey the panic and rage that MC felt as the Witch Queen attempts to convince her to join her; and it’s helped me a lot! Thanks for giving me that chance, anon!

Summary: After a battle with the Witch Queen’s henchmen goes awry, Helena is faced with the dangerous task of bring MC back to her senses... before it’s too late.

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It was all too much for MC. First the illusion and now the mental taunting by the Witch Queen herself... Birthing a fake vision of Helena dying in this battle was hard enough but to hear the Witch Queen jeer about how worthless Helena was, how she’d be much happier serving the Witch Queen again... It had blood vessels bulging from her neck out of sheer fury. She could feel a cold chill rise in her chest, hungry to devour, making her heart beat with the desire for carnage--desire to spill blood, to shed power, to just devour...

“MC!”

The Chicagoan didn’t hear her lover’s desperate cry--drowned out by the Witch Queen’s dark words that wove a crown around her head; thorns of power that stung and nettled MC beyond what pain her skin could perceive. She wanted to thrash, to lash out, to scream in the Witch Queen’s face until she could no more but she couldn’t do anything at all. Paralyzed and engrossed in magic--magic that kissed her fingers blue and singed the air swathing her hands. Compulsion to release it, to flood the world with her cold abilities and avenge the hollowness within her--the hollowness that has been cursed to her for years and years... MC could sense the Witch Queen slithering within her head, gifting her perceptions that weren’t her own--ones that quivered a tale of lifelong loneliness. Of revenge, stained the color of blood from thousands and thousands. Like a drooling wolf about to sink its teeth into its prey, MC was famished without the treat of revenge--the cold, cold, callous feeling that made her head spin with gratification born from the sickest of minds.

Soon, MC wanted to see the world in shambles, painted maroon to match the fury that pattered and pattered and pattered within her chest--a hardened organ, colder than the most freezing winters--!

MC had to escape. She had to break free--fight off the Witch Queen. Don’t give in.

“You and I together could ruin the world, MC. Consider all of the power you could have if you just gave in--give in to me.”

But the Witch Queen’s alluring purr infected every thought and every space of her mind, blotting out the world around her and the thoughts that begged her to move. Feelings never felt by MC unfurl in her and the desire to wreck--to kill--grows unavoidable. Her teeth grit as she struggles to withhold herself, struggling to restrain the tense ball of ability that writhed and screamed to be released. Her eyes stung as they glared into nothing but air, her eyelids unable to shut despite the frivolous cold that bit them. She felt like her jaw would snap at any second with all of the pressure she instilled into it, her gums beginning to ache with the harsh press of teeth against teeth. MC couldn’t see what surrounded her beyond the illusion of the Witch Queen’s throne and the wiseacre herself seated cockily on the very throne. The battle encircling her became white noise in the face of the Witch Queen’s voice; asserting thoughts of beauty and wisdom and eternal power that weren’t ones MC would ever think in a right state of mind. The Witch Queen had her collared--bound to her very hands like her most loyal of pets--and kept a vice grip on the leash that kept MC there, kneeling before a woman too vile to worship. MC wished she was actually in the throne room--so she could deflect these feelings and be the karma that would inevitably bite the Witch Queen where it hurt most; her nobility. 

“Haven’t you ever wondered what it feels like to be feared by all? A simple glare would have the weakest falling to her feet, begging for forgiveness. You could be what they hide from--what they see in their nightmares and hope they’re asleep. Join me and you’ll never feel inferior again; you’ll be the one who makes everyone else inferior to you, MC.”

The Witch Queen taunts and MC cracks under her fierce ministrations--a splinter flutters away from her self-control and that’s the invitation that lures the Witch Queen in, her icy face of cruelty materializing in MC’s conscious-!

“MC! My love, please come back to me! Don’t listen to her--don’t let her fool you!”

Helena’s voice--a harp strung over the roars of a raging storm--fills MC’s ears and her hands--the softest remedy to harmonize MC’s skin--grip MC’s forearms desperately. Tears shimmer in her blue eyes as she shakes MC; first gently, then more aggressively as her fear amounts. “No! Come to me, MC, listen to me--your queen!” The Witch Queen shrieks as her grasp on MC begins to slip--the subservience of her prey chipping away into dominance and reign. MC felt her senses unravel and loosen, kissing away the numbness that plagued her body and the lost perception of the world around her is recovered. When her eyes lose their clouded shine, MC finds herself face to face with an ocean of sorrow, of empathy--of love that hurt to glare at. Helena’s ivory fingers were cupping MC’s face, her fingertips grazing the inches of skin just behind her ears. Her mouth--the color of bruises a day after infliction--is avidly moving, her teeth glimpses of white flashing that seemed to match the snow around them. Words fell on MC’s deaf ears as the Witch Queen shrieks once again, her presence an insect wandering around the depths of her head. MC shuddered as the Witch Queen, finally, withdrew and she crumpled; frail and bleak in comparison to Helena’s tall solidity. “MC, my love, are you-?!” Helena’s sentence doesn’t finish as her arms tighten around MC, dragging the sorceress down into the snow along with the weakened MC.

Her grey eyes had no shine; rather glimmered from the sun’s holy rays as snow soundly fell around them--gentle feathers falling to the ground. “MC, MC! Stay with me, darling, hold yourself to the sound of my voice!” The sorceress demands as a hand leaves her face to cup the back of her head, her pale fingers engrossed in strands of raven that were satiny and glossy like that of a raven’s plucked feather. Helena’s eyes glinted with tears and she clutched MC close like she was the antidote to a disease yet unknown--hugging her as if her warming presence was the sole barricade to isolate MC from the Witch Queen’s cruel grasp. Around them, the battle had ceased and no longer was the snow complimented with the icy blue armor of the Witch Queen’s soldiers. It was only Helena and MC, curled in with each other, allowing their clothes to soak up the snow’s moisture. Now that she can perceive the world around her, MC notices that her breathing is ragged and hoarse and heaves her chest each intake and exhale she did. She felt weak--defeated and seamless--only held together by the adhesive of Helena’s certain arms. “Can you hear me?” Helena croons, desperation clawing her voice, roughening the silk into rags. “MC, do you hear the sound of my voice? Has she taken you from me?” The skips of her heartbeat turn into scuffled hops, the metaphorical knees of each beat scratched raw with the emotion that paved the organ’s staccato.

Weakly, and with every ounce of energy MC could muster, MC whispers, “No one... can take me from you, Helena.”

Immediately, the sorceress’ channel of helpless sorrow purls into a charging river of rejoicing blue and she meticulously gathers MC against her chest in a solemn yet relieved embrace. MC’s arms limply sling around Helena’s back, sensing the hiccups that wrack her body as she cries--her depression harmonizing into intense joy. “Thank you, my love,” Helena murmurs into the wetting patch of fabric on MC’s shoulder, the words all pouring from her like a fountain of love all wished to life by a prayer, “my strong, strong, wonderful love.”

MC’s eyes sting and she grips Helena tighter, wishing the Witch Queen would fuck off for the rest of eternity so that she could stay enthralled in Helena’s arms, safe from harm...

Forever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you again for your request! I really, really loved writing this for you and i hope you enjoy reading it!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

[qm-vox]

The Dwelling Gods - A More Perfect Union

Previous Chapter: Sitting The Table

Human-Controlled Space (The Undivided Whole), Milky Way Galaxy (Orion Arm), 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

We The People Of Planet Earth

Not all is well. It has not been well ever since the People’s invasion of the gataxians. We had underestimated the willingness of their aggrieved neighbors to come to their defense; even now Our citizens pore over histories, shift masses of data, claim mental bandwidth with which to argue amongst Ourself about how We could have so grossly mis-characterized the political situation between the xenophobes and their prey. Our libraries buzz with life, fed further data by forward intel posts, by contemplation and meditation, by after-action reports written by Ourself and for Ourself and to Ourself.

But what’s worse is the wound, the lacing, scratching thing in Our mind, the hurtful little slash around which We become I. We cannot be I; We The People Of Planet Earth stand united, without flaw or seam.

We, not I. I cannot be the People. I can only be a person.

It itches. There is no other word for it. It feels like such a small thing but all of Us suffer for it; Our hands move more slowly, Our heads shake as we go about Our work. The wound-thing that tastes like “I” drives Our citizens to distraction. The artwork being made for Our vaults and cities and ships skews dark; We can feel Ourselves working in bloody rust-reds, in off-blacks, in violent tangles of light and shadow that dizzy the eyes. Our previous blue period would be a relief at this point.

How did We get hurt? It had felt almost like one of Our semi-autonomous citizens, what Divided Humanity would think of as an officer, reporting in to sync subjectivities, but instead of the blissful transfer of information We were cut and scarred by the shrieking death-fear of two minds at once. One almost human, the other...

(Art-citizens slash red across the metal of Our fleets. A creche of writers begins typing gibberish far beyond the pale of even Our most recursive meta-textual works; harsh noise plays from the throats of Our musicians oh it hurts the memory hurts so much and yet We cannot stop picking at it can We)

Focus. We direct the attention of the People (I look - no!) to the war-front. The gataxians are being reinforced in numbers too large to be a mere defensive measure, and We are bringing Our own fleets to bear accordingly. War-citizens emerge from the cloning vats, and We re-task the autonomous to the needs of battle. If We do not miss Our guess, a counter-invasion is imminent. This could work to the advantage of the People; forcing the enemy to expend time and energy defending the borders will make them easier to cross and pillage of resources, and We may learn much from the mysterious and advanced benefactors of the butterflies -

- something is not right. We are -

Gripped, seized in my (mymymymy) mind by two minds, two minds like the last two minds that carved I into We and made me aware of my me-ness, my one-ness, of the betrayal of my purpose it’s like claws made of knives right in the soul why this how this it hurts -

The human-like mind starts dying immediately, flayed layer by layer by the sheer enormity of the being that is Myself, but that other mind, that thing, that fractal whisper, it has me.

Hello, hivemind, it purrs, its voice full of promise and secrets. This will hurt.

I start screaming from a trillion throats, and then I am, once again -

Caroline Morrison, New York City, 2679 CE

When had most of the meetings become silent? I/(We) struggle to remember when exactly all of (U)s had noticed, but I guess the actual smoking gun was when we’d all decided to start faking the minutes of those meetings. Juan’s still the secretary on paper, so most of his attention is currently devoted to diligently writing up lies about our plans to grow the company, a proposed investment in a marketing firm (W)e already own in all the ways that matter, something something office birthday...

The Chinese takeout on the table isn’t fake, though. Turns out operating the brain chips takes a lot of calories, and while Juan fakes the words we’re not saying out loud we (all) stuff our faces while the conversation actually takes place on another level.

We’re going to have a problem with the money soon April says into (O)ur minds; I can feel the chip in my own brain tingle pleasantly as it registers the communication. If we keep things aboveboard we’ll be bankrupt in two years, but going criminal -

The IRS would be on us in an instant. We’re too suspicious already I finish. This orange chicken is fucking amazing and it’s sort of unfair how into it I am while we’re having this serious conversation. And it’s not like we can onboard them without pulling that trigger early.

!xobile holds up his hand to get us to hold on a second; he’s having an epic struggle with a forkful of noodles and the noodles are definitely winning. After managing to defeat his nemesis he clears his throat (not strictly necessary but he’s only had his chip for two months, it takes some getting used to) and starts talking: I may have another option. Marketing is reporting that the movement to cure autism -

- He pauses while the rest of us make mental noises of revulsion -

- Believes that the Ross-Moore Chip could provide such a service. This customer base is wealthy, influential, and comes with prime endorsements from celebrities...a few of whom have expressed a willingness to undergo the procedure for PR purposes.

!xobile names a few figures for initial donations, but they pale in comparison to the potential gains. Once they’re chipped, those luminaries will understand the Mission, the Need for United Humanity to reverse the catastrophic environmental damage to Earth, to prevent another disaster like the loss of the Arkships. They’d give (U)s access to their social sphere and keep the wolves away from the door while we work...

Everyone else is thinking the same thing.

Fund it I/(We) order, and we all raise our little boxes of fried rice to toast with.

We The People of Planet Earth, 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

I struggle and thrash, but this conflict is foreign to me (mememememe); no citizen has ever rebelled like this. Where are the weapons, how do I grasp this whispering thing that has me in those claws, in that late November grip that tastes like sad truths and cuts like a funeral dirge.

What a sad little mistake you are the thing whispers in a cruel, crooning voice. You don’t even know what you are not.

We (I) need to get Our citizens in order; We turn Our focus away from the claw-thing to calm the disrupted citizens, to soothe the bodies. From somewhere in the depths of memory I/We recall reading that control of the body is control of the mind, and We are far from in control of either it hurts why does it hurt so much.

A whispering laugh, and those claws, those shredding things of grief and fear, dig in deeper. She lives with this every day, and you can barely stand a moment of it. How long has it been since you felt pain, little mistake?

LET ME GO! I roar, and I realize my mistake too late; the claw-thing reaches into that moment of wrath and fear, and I can feel what I know being known by it, being learned and scraped and analyzed. No! No no no no no -

In desperation I grab at memories and drag my captor down with me, and then it is an earlier time and place again.

United Humanity, Sydney, Australia, 0 Unified Year (2076 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

“We don’t see that you have much choice,” We say to the assembled leaders. This citizen wears a nametag that says ‘Gloria’, and they address Us by that name; We have long since realized that those who are not yet United respond better to the fiction of Division than to Our truth. “Your fleet is in tatters. You cannot sustain a defense against the numbers We can bring to bear on land. It is not Our wish to drag out this conflict or to be responsible for the loss of human life.”

The American gives Our citizen one of those knife-hand gestures so common among their lower officers, which makes a certain amount of sense; We own most of their former high command these days. “You’ll forgive me if I point out how farcical that statement is. Those poor souls you chip -”

“Are completely unharmed,” We interrupt smoothly. “Living productive and happy lives, with the best medical care and all of their needs seen to.” We straighten Our citizen’s collar. “We understand your concerns, but the Ross-Moore is a method of communication, nothing more. United Humanity represents what is possible when language barriers are wholly removed,” We add. Experience gained from millions of people makes the lie smooth and clean.

Murmurs, around the room. “Gloria” is the de facto hostage of the coalition government, but their alliance cannot last; already cultural friction erodes the morale of their citizenry, alongside the unchecked greed of capitalist holdouts who even now attempt to profit off of Our unification. They can be made to see.

“Gentlemen,” We say, “what can We do to convince you? We would rather not make grand threats; if We wanted to invade, We would have done so already. Surely there is a path to peace that we can all walk today.”

Those murmurs become contemplative. We wait, letting them talk, debate, murmur favors to be traded with one another.

When it feels right, We speak next from the mouth of the Australian Prime Minister: “How quickly could United Humanity supply food and medical relief to my citizens?”

“Gloria” smiles beatifically. “Within forty-eight hours.”

We The People of Planet Earth, 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day) 

That cutting grip is loosening (it hits like heartbreak on the last day of summer, like the last goodbye between old friends, oh it hurts -), but I can feel that thing rooting through my memories yet further, knowing what I know. War-citizen deployments, cloning methods -

Get out of there! I shriek as I feel it rifling through my artwork, my culture, the churches and holy places I preserved on Earth, the museums and vaults and -

It laughs at me. Laughs long and quiet, in that cruel, whispering voice.

Now what is all of this for? the claw-thing murmurs. What benevolent idiots your creators were, little mistake.

I hit back, lashing out, but something new is wrong; it’s dying, flaking away as the human-like mind struggles to remain in existence amidst the torrent of Myself. The feeling is like punching water that’s already going down a drain.

You have no right I accuse. The history of Divided Humanity must be -

That mocking laughter again: I’m dying now, little mistake. Let me show you something before I go.

An image, in my mind, as clear as if my citizens were there in the flesh: the Arkship Demeter, lost through an unstable wormhole. Dozens of species fill its halls, but prominent among them, participating in a solemn religious service is -

- is -

- Oh no.

Glory to the Phoenix, the risen children of Divided Humanity the claw-thing mocks with the last shreds of its strength, and then it is gone.

Across my dozens of worlds and thousands of space stations, United Humanity starts screaming.

[notexactlyrocketscience]

Review: Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons, #3) by Sarah J. Maas

This series just keeps surprising me. One, by not even seeming like each book is written by a different author. Two, by just effortlessly checking all the boxes it needs to.

Page-turning? Check.

Middle-grade-style atmospheric, polished, writing (a kind of generic, engaging third-person PoV similar to Rick Riordan's in Heroes of Olympus)? Check.

Fun (and clever and unpredictable!) plot? Check.

Characters and relationships that develop and that you can easily get attached to? Check.

In fact, if you look at it from that point of view, there are no direct flaws to this series (yet). I COULD go ahead and point out that “Oh, but it’s not that deep, you know? Not that dark.” And I’d be right, but well ... not all books HAVE to be that way. I feel like this is great for older middle-grade readers who are just starting to dabble in a little more YA. Goodness knows we need more of these.

The female friendships were so heartwarming here (also the lesbian-bi couple!). I loved all of it, every little 100% realistic part. From the easy conversation, vulnerability, trust and wholesomeness to the impatience, mistakes, betrayals and toxicity.

Also, Can we talk about the romance? I love Maas’s writing and plots (she’s just so good!) but she sometimes ... *cough* overdoes her romances (for lack of a better word). I'm usually very picky about romances. I always love a little bit, but too much makes me queasy. And this book had just the perfect amount that left me wanting for so much more. All the banter was just awww. And there were SCENES, people. Okay? Not steamy, not really, BUT SO ATMOSPHERIC AND WELL-DONE THAT MY COLD HEART IS STILL A PUDDLE. Watch out for sweaters and traffic lights, is all I'm telling you. I just can't. T^T

A lot of people have been complaining about Luke's character - or lack thereof - but I don't see it? He seems like a perfectly well-formed character to me, just like the rest of them. Bruce and Diana had been the same kind of earnest, wide-eyed-good-guys too, with the same lack of grey areas. I suspect the audience reaction is partly because his character pales in comparison to the sheer badassery of Catwoman. I'm not complaining. She's the real star, as far as I'm concerned.

Maas’s Selina (AKA Catwoman) is a character I'd have loved to grow up with. She's the embodiment of trouble, nerve, and boldness. I kept underestimating exactly what she was capable of (both skill-wise and intelligence-wise, AND emotionally) till the very last moment. Yet she was soft too: She had so much love to give, and she was ready to fight to the death to protect her own. I noticed that some people disliked this because the real Catwoman is supposed to be colder, but I guess that's more of a conscious choice the writer and editors made, rather than actual flaw to be pointed out.

I feel like some of the reveals could've been made more dramatic and there could‘ve been a little less repetition of events throughout, but I still liked it the way it is - and either way I try not to be too nitpicky about writing choices in books (unless they’re just plain bad) because I know a lot of hard work goes into these anyway.

All in all, a fun read. Lots of out-loud snorts, squeals, and face-palming. A bucket-list book? Maybe not. But good for unwinding and delving into some well-written, quick-witted middle-grade sci-fi (and possibly a universe you like)? Absolutely.

Also: Consistent review-writing (or any kind of writing) is hard. I feel like I need a two-day nap now. I admire y'all bookstagrammers and reviewers here. ~_~

⠀

[ineffablepenguin]

I’ll Be Here If You Need Me

[This is a continuation of my Ineffable Husbands series on AO3! It will eventually be posted there too as Part 8, but this is an early preview in response to a request for a fic about Crowley struggling with nightmares :)]

The clock in the corner chimed the first hour of the morning, and the bookshop was dark and quiet. A clock ticked on the mantelpiece, oddly loud in the silence. Aziraphale lay lengthwise on the tufted sofa in the back room, back propped up slightly against the armrest. A single small lamp was switched on and shining over his shoulder, casting him in a pool of soft yellow light. He was reading a book (‘Great Expectations’) propped up in one hand and absently running the other through Crowley’s hair.

Crowley lay on top of him in his customary place, between his bent legs with his head pillowed on his chest, fast asleep. He was sprawled bonelessly on his stomach in only his t-shirt and boxer shorts, snoring lightly with mouth agape, and he had drooled a bit onto his striped nightshirt. Aziraphale glanced down at him as he turned a page, smiling. He had come to enjoy sleeping too, but he would never, ever be as good at it as Crowley. Aziraphale was a light sleeper when he did sleep, while his demon could probably give corpses a run for their money. The demon in question let out a soft sigh and shifted, repositioning himself slightly against him. Aziraphale sighed too. He closed his eyes and let the hand with the book ease down to rest at his side. He’d been holding it up for a long time and his arm was getting sore; maybe a nice nap of his own was in order. The sofa had quickly become one of their favorite spots. He had finally caved in at Crowley’s urging and bought a slightly larger one to better accommodate the two of them. They would spend hours lying here just like this, talking about art, food, movies- whatever entered their heads, and sometimes nothing at all. Then Aziraphale would pull out one of his books and Crowley would drift off to sleep- at least, when they didn’t segue into more...cooperative activities. He sighed again, wriggling down a little further into the cushions. He had to admit, the new sofa was much more comfortable than the old one.

His eyes flew open wide as Crowley started violently atop him and woke up with a sharp gasp, body jerking so hard that he nearly knocked them both onto the floor. Heart pounding from shock, be immediately gathered Crowley up into his arms and held him close, the way he always did, rocking slightly from side to side. The demon clutched at him and buried his face into his shoulder, breathing heavily. A faint sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. He didn’t speak, but Aziraphale could feel him trembling from head to toe. “Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay, you’re here with me. Everything is fine, you’re safe.” He continued like that for a while, stroking the back of his head and murmuring quiet reassurances. He knew from experience that it took time for Crowley to emerge from whatever darkness his dreams had brought. He didn’t know what it was that Crowley dreamed of. He didn’t know if it was a single horror or many, or if it involved things real or imagined. He only knew that his love woke up like this about once a week, wild-eyed, in a cold sweat with fear and despair written all over his face. The first time it happened he had been frantic with sheer worry. Crowley had never explained, and he hadn’t the courage to ask. He could make a few fairly intelligent guesses, but some things simply weighed too heavily in the heart to be spoken aloud. He stared at the ceiling as Crowley slowly relaxed against him with a huge sigh, his body going limp as the nightmare released its hold. He kept his face pressed to Aziraphale’s chest, but was no longer squeezing him in a death grip. “Hey, angel,” he said quietly.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked just as quietly.

Crowley sighed again and shifted to tuck his head under his chin. “Fine now,” he said. “Never better.”

“Stay here, I’ll make you some tea. Good calming tea is just the thing. Or maybe some chocolate?” He moved to sit up, but Crowley didn’t let go. “No; thanks, but it’s fine. I’d rather just stay like this for a bit. Is that okay?” The question made his heart twist, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. In answer he simply tightened his arms and kissed the top of his head. He would give anything, absolutely anything in the world, to take the dreams from Crowley. He would take them for himself, if he could, whatever they were. He would have miracled them away in a heartbeat, but alas, even miracles had their limits. All he could do was hold him and wait for it to pass. A helpless rage stirred in his gut as he contemplated what he would like to do to whoever had put such fear in the one he loved. He would never, ever forget the fright he’d gotten as he walked into that cellar. The sight of Crowley pinned against the wall by that terrible man - Hastur, Crowley had called him - purple-faced and gasping for breath, had haunted him for weeks after. They’d finally found their way to each other after all this time, through every impossibility and twisting road, and one horrible demon had almost taken him away forever. Crowley was persona non grata, and would never have been issued another body after everything that had happened

He felt an echo of that same dizzying rage whenever he thought about it. He had never actually killed anything before, not even in the first War, but he might make an exception for Hastur. Or maybe...maybe the fear wasn’t of anything from Hell at all. Perhaps the dream monsters came from somewhere else entirely. That was a much more frightening thought. His side had cast Crowley out in the first place, after all, something that still left him bewildered and sad. If they didn’t think he was worth saving, then how much did he really trust their judgment? How could they possibly have found him unworthy? The anger burned deep, moving slow and hot through the jagged cracks that the other angels’ actions had left in his faith. At moments like these, he hardly felt like an angel at all. “Aziraphale.” Crowley spoke his name softly, and it dragged him back from his unsettling thoughts. “Yes, my dear.” “Can you please say it again?” He smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. It was a common request after nights like this. “I love you,” he said. He kissed his hair, breathing in the sweet smell of his hair products. “I love you more than all the books in the world.” Crowley snorted, and Aziraphale could feel him smiling against his chest. “That much, huh?” “Hush. I wasn’t finished.” He scowled playfully down at him, even though he knew he couldn’t see it. “I love you more than dessert. I love you more than sunlight and wine and all the stars in heaven. I love you...” I love you enough to Fall, if it came to it. “...more than anything,” he finished in a bare whisper. The thought had come out of nowhere like a bolt of lightning, and it took his breath away. All the more so because in that moment, he realized it was true. It was quiet for a minute, then Crowley raised his head to look at him, chin propped on his chest. “I guess that is a lot,” he remarked with a crooked smile. That smile was like a balm on his soul, soothing his worries and lifting his spirits an unreasonable amount. He felt the tightness in his chest loosen as everything inexplicably felt right again. Whatever the future may hold, it paled in comparison to the importance of holding Crowley right here, right now. He pulled him closer and rested his cheek against his hair. Perhaps....perhaps. After all, God had changed Her mind about humanity, more than once. Perhaps someday She would be willing to revisit the subject of one particular demon as well. They stayed like that for an endless time, murmuring nothings back and forth until Crowley gradually went silent. His breathing evened out as his body went slack, and Aziraphale could tell he had drifted off again. He smiled, knowing that the nightmares never visited twice in one night. Crowley should be safe, now. He decided to stay awake and keep an eye on him anyways. Just in case.

[strengthcfcharacter]

@wemadeemcocoa​ / @mesmusae​ asked for a Rhys and Feyre kid meme

Hehe, funny you should mention that, since I have now made two muses of just such characters who I would be glad to introduce here :D

The very delightful son:

Name: Yair (meaning ‘he shines’)

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Looks just like his dad, violet eyes, dark hair, tanned skin. Has Illyrian wings that he hides most of the time.

Personality: Easygoing and charming. He has a long fuse on his temper, and just likes to enjoy life.

Special Talents: Darkness manipulation, daemati mind-reading abilities, shapeshifting, and light (the latter two inherited from his mother, obviously)

Who they like better: Feyre

Who they take after more: Rhys

Personal Head canon: If people think Rhys is charming, he pales in comparison to Yair. The kid has always been naturally gifted and extremely talented at making friends, calming tempers, and getting his way. He very, very rarely actually uses his daemati gifts because his skill with the spoken word is second to none, he rarely needs it.

Face Claim: Harry Styles

The absolutely stunning daughter:

Name: Tova (meaning ‘God’s gift’ or perhaps in fae terms, ‘Mother’s gift’)

Gender: Female

General Appearance: A mixture of her parents, but still the same dark hair and violet eyes as her father. She has wings that look like a night sky that she often chooses to show.

Personality: Fiery and passionate. She’s capable of calm, but rarely knows what to do with it. She is, as her father puts it, ‘as strong-willed as stubborn her mother’.

Special Talents: Darkness manipulation and daemati abilities. She didn’t inherit any of her mother’s extra abilities from the other High Lords, but the sheer amount of magic she has running through her veins makes up for it. She regularly has difficulty keeping her powers in check.

Who they like better: Rhys

Who they take after more: Both her parents say Cassian

Personal Head canon: Tova is exceptionally more powerful than her brother, potentially even her parents, and shows all the signs of being next in line for High Lady of the Night Court. While everybody is certain she’d be quite capable, nobody is entirely on board with this idea - Yair has always been the one that’s been able to play politics, Tova doesn’t have quite the same grasp on it.

Face Claim: Gal Gadot

More information can be found out about both of these muses over here.

[zweiherzen]

✘ (Apex Verse) What are you hoping to accomplish here? *Why* are you here? In the games I mean.

—  ANONYMOUS USER  //  My muse has to tell the truth for 10 asks.

he hadn’t expected to be herded into  much sponsorship or promotional media. Or any media at all, for that matter, given his shaky popularity — if he has any to start with in the first place — among the Games’ various competitors. There are many things that Cardiac could be considered: cruelly disloyal; blatantly violent; plainly brutish. But he’s certainly not imperceptive, and it has not at all slipped his notice that he is no pleasantly received character among the public. Though he’ll admit that the spite towards his methods is not exactly the best kept secret.

It’s a good thing that the majority of his  ( very recognisable )  facial structure remains hidden in the arena — cheekbones and thin lips tucked away beneath the thick of his mask — and that those who openly detest him in the Games don’t seek out content other than what of the tournaments is publicly broadcasted. Some do make it their business to pursue that which they hate, however, and those few are hard pressed to keep quiet about their hatred. Cardiac would have praised the mindless courage it takes to approach in broad daylight, bringing fitful accusations to fling at his name and his sheer lack of morality …  well. He would, if it weren’t for the abundance of spiteful stares — and oftentimes more than just that — thrown his way once the bareness of his façade is stripped away. It’s not so difficult for a clever pair of eyes accustomed enough to the peculiarity of his upper face, or for a careful ear keen enough to latch onto familiar timbre and accent. It’s no wonder that Cardiac has found himself occasionally considering one of Bloodhound’s masks, hung on gaily display in most shops, when a trip down the block chases him off the streets with fairly unpleasant encounters.

The impossible does happen, however. 

He’d like his mask on, he’d told the agents. Luckily for him, they’d responded — with the slightest hint of coarse disapproval, barely perceptible when spooned into a healthy serving of incredibly corporate and businesslike  ( greedy )  enthusiasm — that his audience adored that consistent hint of mystery about him. Mystery adorned in no small amount of blood and gore and guts, of course …  but a lucrative and compelling brand of mystery nonetheless.

Questions and answers are the entertainment of the day, he’s readily informed. He is expected to deliver whatever he pleases, so long as it keeps viewers riveted to the stream. There’s little else expected of him except that, when enquiries are offered forth, he must in kind offer them something exciting. Something devious. Even something so detestably awful that it incites rage and disgust, if it so amuses him. Whatever he must, whether it be truth or anything but, to keep the little counter on the stream rising, or at the least constant.

Not an issue. He has always been exceedingly skilled at putting up a show.

Enquiries are drawn by chance from the submissions  ( of which there are none-too-few, despite the hatred that comes always with the utterance of his name ). Those entered alongside a generous donation return higher chances of having their morbid curiosities satisfied — or, in some unfortunate cases, laughed aside — by one of the Games’ most gruesome killers. A Legend Cardiac is not, many have agreed. But a killer ?  yes, and a most efficient one, at that.

As it turns out, for a demographic in attendance at the livestream of an acclaimed killer, the majority seem awfully interested only in the mundane. Questions of morning routine, favourite coffee roasts, family life, are drawn one after another. Most he entertains, though the more personal he chases aside with vagueness and chortles. The chat is still chastising him for dodging some cryptic request from an anonymous viewer to  ‘ hit the dab, ’  and they have just entangled themselves in the thick of proclaiming him a coward when the next question’s drawn and flashed on the screen before him.

> What are you hoping to accomplish here? > Why are you here? In the games I mean.

He stills, laughter faltering to a steady silence as he reads the question over once more. A more personal question than he’s expected to receive this evening, though it may seemingly pale in comparison to requests for his entire career and life history. Unadorned as it is, it has unknowingly tapped into a reservoir of something so much more than the simple and brutish show Cardiac puts on for the Games.

He considers a lie. Or a humorous quip. Both are just as likely to please the crowd and save him the trouble of baring the inside of his head, exposed for all to see. But perhaps, just this once, a hint of honesty might change up the game a bit.

“ Solace. A quiet bar. I was passing by in my travelling — occupying myself with drink for company. Nothing particularly exciting; I’ve circuited through many times. Whiskey, ”  he adds in response to the chat’s immediate enquiries. He remembers the taste of it well, the sting of alcohol on his tongue seared into his mind alongside that moment. He remembers, vividly: the uproar in the bar as something flickers across the few monitors mounted above the counter … something shocking enough that patrons surge forward in their seats to slam glass against tabletops, the bar hosting such a multitude of horrified moans that they seem to echo, multiplying, against one another. These are mixed in with the peppering of distant cheers, all promptly hushed once they are met by fellow patrons with further revulsion. 

The Gauntlet, perhaps? Another defying act of bravery as tragic as the case, flitting about here and there, of a boy who’s injured his legs all for the sake of a record? 

A crane of the neck was all it took to peer over at the counter from his seat. All it took to seize him, wholly and unequivocally, as he caught sight the monitor — of blood splattered across concrete. Of gaseous fumes curling at the feet of a man who moves with a brand of deliberation that Ludwig has never seen in any stride save for his own. It’s a sort of deliberation, terrifying and otherworldly, that can be rarely derived from the set of brows and from that fire which lives within the eyes of men haunted … men riveted by the prospects of something so much grander than themselves. It’s a fire that turns them into ghosts of godliness, stalking between realms of that mundane tedium which most of humanity content themselves with living within …  reaching, ever-hungry, for a knowledge most men only dream of scratching the surface of. It’s a fire that eats at those it possesses, driving them to create and to destroy, to seek the breaching of that ever thinning line between life and death.

He walked away from Solace’s bar that evening with the shadow of death still stalking behind his eyelids,and  with a name pried from a nearby patron who knows just enough about the Apex Games to provide the information that he needs.

Caustic. 

He’s babbling, live, without thinking about the words that come from his mouth. He hardly cares. His mind is occupied with the startlingly vivid memory of his retreat to his rented room that night, how the rest of the late evening and the hours of the days that followed were consumed in digging out buried footage from the Apex Games that he’d never before taken much interest in. The footage is poorly edited, mediocre in terms of entertainment at most. Quite clearly catered to the general public. A bloodsport is no novel concept, but whoever runs the Games now do the gruesome stories of the old tradition no justice. He tolerates the grating narration, sifting through the many, many clips only for a chance to spot the merciless force of a gloved fist caving in competitors’ unwitting skulls. A chance to watch the lethal deliberation of those eyes again as bright gases swallow prospective Legends in a cloud of death.

“ I’d never quite seen anything like it. I still haven’t seen anything like it. If I close my eyes now, ”  and he does so, with a slight lean back into the plush of his seat,  “ I can see it all still, in such vivid detail. The wonders of a sharp memory! You could say that I was — inspired. 

“ The Games were never so appealing until I knew that men like him chose them as grounds for their work. Glory and money are decent enough rewards, and I always appreciate the extra funding for my more fantastic projects. That, along with the wonderful abundance of living subjects that come pouring in for their chance at fame and fortune. All mingling in the arena, ready for their eventual contribution to my work. If they will die — and there is bound to be death in a bloodsport — at least they will do having played their part in something much more important than themselves…  oh, but I came to the Games for more than just that. ” 

Sullenness overcomes, breaching grinning visage and swallowing the giddy veneer of cheer into a drastic sobriety. He’s quiet as fingers curl across the damp surface of his glass, seeking anchorage: something tangible in this moment of overwhelming veneration. There is reverence quivering in hushed words when he next speaks, eyes watching some far point in the distance; the pad of his finger drags condensation across the shine of the table.

“ Nothing is quite so lonely as a bird without its flock, of course, ”  comes unbidden. They’re words he’d shared with another before: yet another mind far from keen, unfortunately, when it comes to grasping the importance of his ideals. He laughs, though there is a fresh bitterness to it.  “ I could care less for feeding the demand for brutish entertainment. I do enjoy it, but I had no interest in the Games for violence alone. There is more to life than the carnal desire, you know…  the physical body is of little worth when it makes no efforts to push the mind beyond its limits. ”  

( For man does not live on bread alone. )

“ Human beings are social creatures. They thrive among friends. Forging bonds is hardly an option, except for those few rarities. Adopting antisocial attitudes is more and more common in this day and age …  it’s becoming a trend, and a very unhealthy one, in my medical opinion. Humankind are evolved to seek out comfort in one another, and in the like-minded …  and I do admit that I have had a significant lack of like-minded colleagues in my work. I came to the Apex Games seeking peers. Those who wouldn’t mind sharing in my work. Perhaps even those who find themselves willing to collaborate. That, and. Well. I had hoped to meet the man who inspired my joining the Games. ”  There’s a pause.  “ But unlikely. We are both very, very busy men, of course. Though I have imagined it occasionally. ”

They are imaginings as mercurial as his temper. At times, in these imaginings, he is reluctant and skittish — like a young mare stumbling in the thicket over legs still brittle, but with passion enthused and fresh as Ludwig’s admiration. Just as often, however, these dreams are shrouded in blood, thick and coagulated for all the times Cardiac has dreamt of spilling the blood of the very man who inspired him. There is little more intimate than blood, after all. To kill the chemist by his own hands …  he could not think of anything else that would serve as such a testament to his unwavering respect. To have Caustic’s throat held fast beneath fingers stained red; to hold the chemist’s still-pulsing heart, hot and pungent with the stink of fresh blood, in the palm of his hand. Certainly nothing else would be as much an honour for the doctor. 

How Ludwig fears that, should they ever meet under different circumstances than those which his mind has drawn in vivid detail, he would confuse their meeting for nothing more than a most unusual dream.

He smiles, though it’s near invisible beneath the mask. Keen viewers will catch the spark of giddy frenzy in his eyes and the clever tilt of brows, however, as he leans forward towards the camera. There is something very nearly conspiratorial in his next words:  “ If you are watching — wonderful… !  I’m a fan. Keep up the good work, mein Freund. And perhaps, with luck, we’ll meet one day in the Ring. ”

The chat, in their confusion, take to filling their little box with a constant flow of bird emotes as the stream’s swiftly paused. The broadcasting crew have yet to inform Cardiac that an error has rendered the past four minutes of broadcast into complete static on viewers’ end, and that everything after “glory and money” has been lost to the void of technical issues.

[jackshithere]

How would you describe each of the Rammstein members to someone who knew nothing about them?

Oh man… If we’re being honest, you don’t really start with the juicy bits (that keep making people come for more) if it’s someone who really doesn’t know anything about them. But I will try to make this as newbie-friendly as possible, and add enough simple details to maybe explain the level of fanatic adoration for them. (But I must admit that 1- this will be loooong as fuck and 2- I fangirl about them for their professionalism, so it won’t be as humorous as one might hope)

I’ll do a collection of posts later throughout the week tagged “Rammstein glossary” about each member, maybe get other blogs on board, but I’ll keep this exclusively newbie friendly, if a tad bit too long 

Ok, so, first things first. Facts you can gleam from any wikipedia, with a little introduction on the side.

There are 6 members of the band:

Till Lindemann - the singer, the poet and a professional pyromaniac

He’s an intimidating man, with tall frame and a build of a panzer tank. Till commands the stage with incredibly rich baritone voice and penchant for being set on fire, or carrying big ass flame throwers.

Matter of fact is he’s shy, introverted, doesn’t like being stared at (hence the fire, to distract from his form) and is a soft spoken, polite man - also, his speaking voice is much much softer and gentler. People generally find him fascinating for this paradoxical character.

Richard Z. Kruspe - the guitarist and founder of Rammstein

He is..how do I put this? The typical artist. Diva and control freak, plagued by doubt and striving for perfection, which all make for one hard man to work with. Richard is somewhat of a Tumblr’s sweetheart. He’s aware of those traits, and the most talkative of the group - especially about his mental health, and the problems he faced. Which means people often relate to him, and he’s genuinely a kind and engaging conversationalist, so there are a lot of his interviews to be found online.

Also, it helps that he’s easy on the eyes, let’s be real. Also, he’s a natural meme inducer. Everything that man does and say is meme-able as shit.

Paul Landers - the other guitarist

Always smiling and extraordinarily exuberant, he’s seen as the most approachable and somewhat of a goofball of the group, always up to some antics in the background. He’s the shortest and openly the silliest of the group, so Paul does sometimes get a bit.. infantilized by some fans.

He’s got an unexpectedly rich singing voice, and he’s probably a bit of a control freak himself. For a guy that talks a lot, he doesn’t share personal details as often as Richard, so he’s also somewhat of an unexplored entity. He used to be in a previously successful punk band “Feeling B” with Flake

Christian “Flake” (fla-keh) Lorenz - the keyboardist

This is all you need to know about him. Joking. He’s extremely tall, lanky and born with a soul of a cranky old man. He was with Paul in the previously mentioned band.

He’s.. how do I describe him.. I think he’s the only member you have to go anecdotal to explain him. When they play live, he has a treadmill that he paces on during the entire concert because he gets bored easily. Flake has this sort of… interpretive giraffe-being-tazed-by-electric-fence dance that he does. He’s …somehow he’s the craziest of the group, I really have no vanilla explanation for him. If you get into Rammstein, you’ll get it.

Oliver Riedel - bassist

True to the stereotype about bassists, he’s tall as fuck, quiet and people forget he exists most of the time. Ollie is the youngest of them all, extremely private, and generally a sweetheart. There really isn’t a lot to be said about him - he’s the outdoors-y, athletic type and he also joins in on Paul and Schneider’s antics.

That’s how you do proper crowd surfing

Christoph “Doom” Schneider - the drummer

The sassiest of the bunch. I would categorize him as an extrovert, but a very well contained one. He prefers being called by his last name, though the Doom nickname came from the time he needed a name for the German copyright agency (Christoph Schneider is like John Smith of Germany), and he was suggested by Paul to use Doom, because they like the game. Incredibly confident, but also quite silly man.

In one video, he was dressed as a woman - often referred to as Frau Schneider - and he did it so well (uptight mannerisms, pursed lips, sitting posture that would bring Petunia Dudley to tears all packed in a shockingly beautiful face - I mean, look at him!) that it’s now a part of the live show for him to appear with make up and a wig.

Now, the band, Rammstein.Let’s skip the things you’ll find out from a quick read through of wikipedia, like the name, when they were founded, and all that, instead let’s go for:

What genre are they even?

What songs would you recommend a first time listener?

Why are they so well liked?

What’s so special about them?

The debate about the genre is still on going. You have people claiming they are metal band, you got the German Neue Deutsche Härte genre, you got… tons. Best way to describe, if you want to go for a solid genre label, is Alternative Hard Rock - because they are not really a metal band. But if you’re aiming for the heart of it, it’s Industrial. It’s “abrasive and aggressive fusion of rock and electronic music, with a side dash of punk”. More on their style later.

For a newbie, you got different types:

Not a fan of metal or hard rock at all - If you want to go for easier sounds, where Till’s vocal’s are more prominent, and the instruments are not as aggressively in your face, I recommend Amour for an easy introduction to his vocal style, Ohne Dich, Rosenrot and then Seemann and Mutter

Preferes rock to metal - Amerika, Mein Land, Ich Will

Fine with metal, but generally sticks to upbeat songs - Ich Tu Dir Weh, Weisses Fleisch, Haifisch and Du Riechst So Gut

Open to metal, but prefers the gothic or more alternative genres - Mein Herz Brennt, Engel, Rammstein 

Metal (take it with a grain of salt, not everyone would call it metal, but the sound is hardest in these) - Mann Gegen Mann, Mein Teil and …Benzin? hesitant on the last one

Of course, this is purely my suggestion, and some won’t agree with this classification, but I think it’s a solid introduction to them. Also if you can convince a friend not to watch the video until they hear the song first, I think that would make it somewhat easier to get them into it (because hey, you made them listen to it twice, and they are watching a video so not as focused and they’ll get int— is it obvious that I forced 3 friends to do exactly that and that’s how I got them all into Rammstein?)

This is getting so long at this point, I am putting more effort into this than into my college essays..Why are they so well liked? In short: Fire, Professionalism, Democracy, Music and Controversy1) Fire. “Other bands play, Rammstein burns!“

 Ok, not just fire. Though it’s pretty cool.

2) The ultimate professionalism. I am not kidding when I say that giant, well planned Broadway Musicals pale in comparison to the sheer perfection and amount of panache they put in their live gigs.

It’s considered that it should be on everyone’s bucket list to see Rammstein live at least once. 

I don’t want to stereotype Germans and working like machines, but what makes Rammstein so good, is that they really stick to that stereotype where everything is a perfectly executed machine with no space for fucking around. 

3) Democracy. This influences the professionalism part in the sense that, since all the members of the band have an equal amount of vote over what gets done and how, it means that they all criticize each other’s ideas until they find the middle ground. That middle ground is how they kept their specific genre, while managing to churn out wonderful after wonderful album (I am being very biased here, I just really like every single album, all for different reasons), all with a firm idea of what Rammstein is for all of them

4) Lyrics

First of all, about the lyrics - they are all written by Till. Yet on all songs, credits go to all the members, because everyone gets an input. It really cannot be understated how much of a group project this is. It’s a democratic band where everyone holds the same weight. 

My personal favourite ones are Dalai Lama and Klavier. I am sucker for story telling songs and the words he uses are so perfectly chosen! The first one is a twist on Goethe’s poem while the second one is a very dark love song.

5) Controversy

Since this has gotten embarrassingly long, let me say this in shortest way possible: Some people like provocative, others abhor it and together when they argue they market Rammstein like no other. Rammstein has been blamed like any other metal band for school shootings, Nazi imagery, promoting physically abusive relationships, inciting youths to unlawful/harmful behavior etc. while doing none of that.

But in general, Rammstein has a wonderful attitude of “Interpret out lyrics anyway you want to, we just draw the line at being called Nazis.” and they usually make a point of just telling a story/ presenting a song whose lyrics and/or video are but an element to the entire thing.

Oh my god, I finally scrolled up to check if I answered everything, and you didn’t even ask for all the rest, I just kept spewing on and on D:Sorry!Once I start about Rammstein, I keep going on and on and on. I hope that at least was a good enough introduction, I’ll do those little glossaries with in jokes and fun facts later, as I promised all the way at the beginning

[rorykillmore]

so i have an extraordinary number of friends with march/april birthdays, and now that it’s technically the 26th, it’s @tailsthesales!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIZ!!! they asked me to write a little leon/laura thing for our panfandom site soooo i gave it a shot! luv that alliteration they have goin’ on,

but first, to get mushy for a second... giz, i know you deal with a lot. you’re not one to complain very much or put it on other people but.... i know you do and i also know that you work so hard to stay strong and positive and kind for your friends and i love that SO MUCH about you. thank you so so much especially for everything you’ve helped me with staff-wise on denny lately and just, in general, for making my life a little brighter and better. i hope you have a wonderful birthday because you deserve the WORLD <3 <3 <3

anyway now enjoy leon and laura laughing alone with salad(tm) at the gala event 

What is it with her and nice guys?

Okay, not ‘nice’ -- genuine, kind, decent fucking human beings. They make Laura feel so empty in comparison.

In life, Laura had never considered herself a self-conscious person.

In death, she’s sheer, walking defiance. Mad Sweeney cracks his seventieth dead wife joke, and she doesn’t give a fuck. Random passersby stare to her pale, discolored face half-masked by the usual giant pair of sunglasses she wears, and she doesn’t give a fuck.

As a rule: she generally does not give a fuck. It’s one of the best things about being dead.

It’s one of the things she doesn’t miss feeling.

But there’s something about getting glammed up to go to a high-end political gala that’ll smack the self-consciousness right back into a gal.

No amount of washing, it turns out, will give her hair back the natural sheen and bounce it had when she was alive, and no amount of make-up is going to convincingly return the glow to her skin. Laura guesses she was pretty, once. It had never been very high on her list of concerns, mostly because Shadow would have looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world even on a terrible day.

Tonight, she’s just trying for presentable. But Leon beams at her when she actually shows up anyway, kind of like Shadow might have, and she’s not sure if it makes her feel better or worse.

“Hey,” she says when she’s close enough to greet him, feeling a bit silly as she wonders if that was somehow too informal.

“Hey, Laura,” Leon returns amicably. “You look great.”

Laura raises her eyebrows at him, in a ‘come on, you can say it’ kind of way, but as per usual, Leon seems nothing if not sincere. She decides not to ruin his mood by griping, even if she can’t understand how someone who’s been through everything he has can look at a dead woman and feel anything but uneasy at best.  “Thanks. You too.”

It’s not a lie on her part: Leon cleans up nice. It’s a little jarring to see him in something other than casual attire, but his clean, pressed black suit makes him look a little less weighed down, somehow.

Or maybe it’s just the vibe of this place. Laura can already tell from out here that the gala is thrumming with a kind of excitable energy that even she can kind of feel. She guesses most rifters haven’t had anything quite like this to look forward to in a long time.

“Shall we?” she asks Leon, only a little sardonically.  He offers her his arm and she rolls his eyes and takes it carefully, quietly grateful that it’s not skin to skin contact.

“You’re taller in heels.” Leon notes, catching Laura off guard by teasing her.

“Shut up.”

The banter settles her nerves a little, and they head inside. Everything’s a little too bright, or at least it feels that way to Laura, fresh out of the night and down her usual pair of shades. Maybe ‘zombie’ has been missing the mark, this whole time. Maybe she should’ve been making vampire jokes this whole time. 

“You okay?” Leon asks her, and Laura tries not to feel taken aback at how quickly he notices her discomfort.

“My eyes are a little sensitive, that’s all. You know I don’t even really see in color anymore?”

“That’s probably lucky, in this particular situation.” In mild amusement, Leon watches some kid strut past, and even Laura can tell that his suit’s the gaudiest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

Wait --

“Let’s go this way,” she says suddenly to Leon, tugging his arm perhaps a little harder than she meant to and unbalancing him as she jerks them both out of the Technical Boy’s eye line.

“Hey --” It takes Leon a moment to find his footing. He glances over his shoulder. “Who was that?”

“No one important,” Laura says, knowing it’s technically a lie but also that it isn’t, because that particular God is not particularly important to her. “Just one of those awkward ‘I don’t want to run into anyone I know’ situations.”

“Why was he dressed like that?”

“I ask myself that question every time I see him.”

Leon chuckles, and Laura manages to smile a little despite her slightly frazzled state. “What about you?” she continues.  “As an... official member of the MLD, you’re probably expected to do some socializing, or something. Right?”

Leon glances at her, slightly pained. 

“Shitty co-workers?” Laura prompts, and is a little pleased to hear him laugh again.

“I just don’t know them that well,” he tells her gingerly. “Except for the chief -- Felix? He’s actually pretty decent.”

“Surprising, for a police chief.”  Idly, Laura scans the room as if she thinks she might be able to pick Felix out on sight, even though she’s never met him before. “Well... if you don’t want to introduce me, what do you want to do?”

He looks pensive for a second.  “We could get some drinks?” Then he nearly stammers over his own words, giving her an apologetic double-take.  “-- Sorry. I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Laura needles him, though it’s entirely playful. Somehow, some of her earlier self-consciousness has ebbed away without her noticing. “It’s fine, Leon. I don’t care if you wanna get a drink -- you’ll probably need it.”

But Leon is shaking his head, and his expression is different now in a way that Laura can’t quite read.  “...Or... we could dance?”

Laura stares at him, deadpan.

“Is that a no?” Leon asks, smiling easily, and Laura knows that if she did say no he wouldn’t push her. But that doesn’t make her feel any less like she’s starting to put a damper on his night. 

“No. I mean, yes. I mean --”  She huffs a little, or at least goes through the motions, since she doesn’t technically breathe anymore.  “Nevermind. What kind of asshole comes to a thing like this and says they don’t want to dance? Let’s go.”  

She leaves his side to stalk out onto the dance floor, praying that whatever universal karma is almost definitely working against her at this point doesn’t prompt the DJ to start playing Thriller, or something. Leon follows a little more slowly, and looking back at him, Laura suddenly wonders if he hadn’t expected her to say yes. The slight uncertainty in his posture makes her feel a little better about her own nerves, at least. She doesn’t think she’s done this since her’s and Shadow’s wedding, and even then, she wasn’t stellar at it.

“So...” Leon begins as they come to a standstill.  Laura can’t bear the thought of them awkwardly sizing each other up any longer, so she reaches up to put her hand on his shoulder, and uses her other to take one of his. She knows she must be cold to the touch, as she always is, but to Leon’s credit he doesn’t flinch. 

“You lead,” she tells him. “‘Cause I will definitely fuck us up.”

Leon carefully settles his other hand on her waist, and Laura only thinks about the fact that there won’t be any pulse for him to feel for a second. She’s more preoccupied with trying to remember how to slow dance without looking like an idiot.

Not that anyone said that this was supposed to be romantic, but it’s so entirely the opposite as they both try to find their footing that she kind of wants to laugh. Which, in a weird sort of way, makes her feel a little better. Soon, they settle into an easy, swaying rhythm with the music, and -- sure, maybe it’s not the total, cheesy, embarrassing nightmare she might have imagined it as.

It’s almost kind of nice. And because she can’t let herself have nice things for too long, Laura starts to circle back around to feeling guilty again.

What is it with her and nice guys?

Okay, not ‘nice’ -- genuine, kind, decent fucking human beings. They make Laura feel so empty in comparison.

But then again, pretending that Leon isn’t capable of being a reasonably aware judge of character after all he’s been through is probably doing a disservice to her. And telling herself that nothing has changed - that nothing will ever change - since she was alive won’t get her anywhere.  

And Laura’s not sure where it is she wants to be... but she doesn’t want to be standing still.

Neither does Leon, she thinks. That’s why he’s always pushing forward, why he’s already secured his position in the MLD, why he still wants to help people even though Laura knows he’s probably met too many people who were beyond helping to count.

It’s not like Laura wants to be his charity case, or anything, but she’s not so sure she likes the idea of being beyond help either. So maybe they can help each other.

If only for tonight. If only a little, in passing moments like this one.

[bigbootybun]

Finally done! Capping off at a total 2065 words, featuring all of our favorite stuff from crushing to ridiculous goddamn growth sizes. I wasn’t lying when I said this felt like the culmination of all of my inspiration lately. Enjoy!

You relax on the couch, idling away a lazy Sunday afternoon. There’s some show playing on the TV, but honestly you’re hardly paying attention, just letting it play for the background noise. You start to hear slow, methodical thudding coming up the stairs outside your apartment. Smiling to yourself, you sit up and move to one side of the couch; the last time you didn’t, you lost feeling your legs for a day.

You patiently wait, drumming your fingers on the armrest and listening to the rhythmic thumps that slightly shake the building around you. It’s like music to your ears. After a minute, the front door finally opens, revealing Velvet in all her glory. She fills the doorway and beyond, her black leggings and shirt clinging to her skin as if they were painted onto legs the size of barrels and a belly that hangs down to her knees. Her brown crop-top is nothing more than a glorified bra at this point, stretched over breasts like watermelons, threatening to explode at the seams over her puffy arms.

She’s panting from the climb, leaning her weight against the doorframe as she turns to the side, having to work piece by piece to fit through the door; first one cheek, then squishing her belly through as she backs up, engulfing the doorframe and slightly warping the wood, then turning the final cheek through the door and closing it behind her. The process takes a minute or two, but you don’t mind; it’s always nice to watch her maneuver around her sheer size.

She slowly waddles her way towards you, moving one thick thigh around the other for each step, huffing and hiccupping her way across the room. Pulling a duffel bag off her shoulder, she spins around and drops her weight onto the couch, covering a full two cushions and still spilling over onto yours. Her right hip covers a bit of your thigh, but the pressure is not unwelcome; if anything, it’s expected. As she settles down, the couch creaks and groans, protesting against the massive amount of added weight and noticeably tilting in her direction.

She leans back into the bed of fat that is her rear, setting the bag on her left hip and placing her hands on her stomach as she catches her breath. You reach over, placing a hand on her belly and gently rubbing it, causing her to relax and further settle into her weight with a warm smile.

“So, how was your day?”

“It was-*huff*–nice! I h-hung out with Blake and Weiss, and we talked a lot, and…”

“And you ate a lot.”

“W-well… Yes…”

You chuckle, pressing your hand into her belly a bit harder. “I would expect nothing less~”

She smiles again, wrapping a pillowy arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her side. “Oh! They also gave me a bag of these new milkshakes from the Schnee Company!” She reaches into the bag, and with a slight clattering of glass pulls out a brown bottle and hands it over to you. “We tried a few, and they were pretty good!”

You twist the cap off the bottle, taking a brief sip before immediately pulling it away from your face. “Ugh, you like it? It tastes as bitter as cooking chocolate.” Trying to work the taste out of your mouth, you hand the bottle back to her. With a confused expression, she takes it from your hand, holding it to her mouth and taking a drink.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, it tastes fantastic to me!” She immediately gulps the rest of the bottle down, draining every last drop in seconds. As she finishes, the couch lets out another squeal, and you can feel the weight on your thigh getting heavier. Looking down, you can see that her hip is now covering your leg entirely, her belly now stretching past her knees in her lap and beginning to pop stitches in her clothing.

“Um, Velvet…” you say, only to look up and see her unscrewing another bottle and beginning to chug it down to follow the first. The bottle emptied, she tosses it to the side, already reaching back to the bag for a third. Her hip spreads once again, reaching nearly to your other leg, and you can hear the armrest on the other side of the couch groaning in protest. You notice a label on the bottle she tossed and move to pick it up, but to no avail; your leg is pinned under her hip and won’t be going anywhere soon.

She tosses the third bottle and goes for a fourth, mumbling about how the bottles need to be bigger. You try to catch the bottle as it flies by, but miss by inches. You watch with mild despair as it lands halfway across the room, feeling Velvet’s hip expand further across your lap with her cheek pushing into your stomach and chest as it tears straight through her tights.

A fourth bottle down, another squeal from the couch, another toss, and you manage to snatch it out of the air this time. The label has an ornate image of the Schnee crest and some brand name, but that’s not what you’re looking for. A quick glance over the print-out and you spy a warning label, reading “Caution: May cause Dust-induced growth of fat cells. Growth increases exponentially with multiple servings.”

A fifth bottle flies past your vision and a sixth is started before you can shout, “Velvet, stop!”

Finishing the sixth bottle, she looks towards you with a confused look that shifts to realization and shock as she sees how much she grew. Her right hip covers your lap entirely, stretching across two cushions and over your body, her ass pressing you into the back of the couch and constricting everything but your head and arms. Her belly has expanded forward, forcing her thighs apart as it overflows the couch and piles on the floor in front of her, weighed down by breasts the size of beanbags that make a crater in its top. Her left hip grew as well, more than overflowing the arm of the couch. With a final squeal of detaching nails, the couch arm pops off and falls to the floor, dropping the couch and both of you with it and reducing the rest of the frame to splinters on impact, her body jiggling and shaking on top of you from the fall, reducing what few clothes remained to ribbons.

“O-oh, I’m s-so s-sorry! Here, let me–” She rocks forward, attempting to stand, but the weight of her gut is no match for the weight of her ass. The movement only serves to ease the pressure on your chest, allowing you to get a scant breath before her strength gives out and she falls back into you, pressing ass fat into your torso up to your chin. You push your hands into her soft cheek, sinking into the fat up to your wrists, but it’s all you can do to give yourself enough room to breathe and remain conscious.

Flustered and blushing, Velvet looks around frantically for a way out, before she notices the label on the bottle in her hand. Puzzled, she furrows her brow and squints at it. “What does it mean ‘exponential’?…”

As if on cue, her belly started rumbling and quaking. Velvet’s ears flattened down to her head as she moaned, leaning forward to rub her hands into her upset stomach. Almost immediately, you could feel the weight on your lap and chest increasing as she grew before your eyes. Dozens of pounds were added per second as she spread across the floor, head rising higher on the padding of her own rear. The back of the couch gave one final groan before snapping off and falling backward, releasing the pressure on your chest as you fell back with it.

With the area behind you freed of obstruction, you pried her ass cheek upward and managed to slowly shift your legs out from underneath. Standing up and rubbing your thighs a bit to get some feeling back in them, you looked at Velvet to take stock of your situation.

Though the growth spurt only lasted seconds, her already immense body had grown by half. Her stomach was bigger now than her entire body walking into the apartment, and yet it paled in comparison to her ass. Spreading out in all directions behind her and coming up past your chest, it was easily larger than your now-ruined couch.

You pace around her, coming into the gap between her hip and belly. She turns towards you with a mournful expression, ears still flat along the back of her head. “I-I’m sorry, I b-broke your c-couch… Oh, my stomach is so s-sore…”

You chuckle and shake your head at her. “Velvet, furniture damage is an natural hazard of living with you.” You walk over to her belly to help her out, and you hardly even need to lean down to reach it. As soon as you put your hands on its surface, however, the rumbling begins again, the entire surface quaking and eliciting another moan from Velvet.

Once again her form begins to blow up and expand, ass pushing against the back wall and forcing her forward. You get caught on her hip as she slides across the room, falling onto her thigh and getting dragged along for the ride. Once again you find yourself pinned, this time between thigh and belly. The use of “exponential” was indeed accurate, as the dozens of pounds per second become hundreds. Her belly pushes all the way other side of the room, knocking over the TV and crushing its stand against the wall.

As the growth slows and finally stops, you press against her fat and manage to wedge yourself out of her folds. Looking up at her, you can see that her arms have become useless, unable to even reach her belly to ease her aches. Her face is swaddled with rings of fat that shake as she hiccups and burps off the last growth spurt.

“Are you alright?” you ask, pressing a hand against her side.

“N-no… I d-don’t think that was the last one, you m-may want to get somewhere safer…”

With a shrug, you decide that the best spot to not get crushed by her weight is probably on top of her. Using her rolls as handholds, you climb hand over foot up her belly, now rising almost seven feet off the floor. No sooner do you reach the top and push yourself between her breasts than her belly begins to rumble again, nearly shaking you off with its movements.

Once more she starts rapidly expanding, belly and butt pushing up against opposite walls and swelling out to the sides. You can see spider webs of cracks expanding from where her fat is pressing into the drywall, threatening to bring the room down around you. On and on she grows, pushing the two of you towards the ceiling. Just as you are both about to impact, the growth slows down, stopping with her breasts pressed up against the ceiling.

You work your way out from between her breasts, looking at the room around you to survey the damage. From your vantage on top of her belly, you can see that her fat is covering the majority of the floor space in the room, pressing up against three walls and growing close to the fourth. Her arms are now completely immobile, unable to even bend at the elbows from how much fat is built on them. You couldn’t begin to estimate what she weighs now, but you think you can hear the floor groaning beneath her. Maybe a second-floor apartment with a girl who weighed six hundred pounds and counting was a bad idea.

Chuckling to yourself, you turn back to her fat-wreathed face. “So, Velvet, that was fun.”

“Hah…hah… F-for you, m-maybe…”

“Any idea how we’re going to get you out of here? Or me, for that matter. You’re pretty much covering the door.”

“W-well… I have one idea, b-but it’s pretty reckless.”

“Reckless is better than nothing, let’s hear it.”

“I… I t-think I can feel the bag in the rolls on my left side. T-those drinks really do t-taste amazing…”

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 17- Salzburg: In Which I Meet A One Eyed Monster

I decided to get myself out into Salzburg to explore early, today. Partially because I had already grown intensely tired of my new dorm-mates despite none of them having done anything particularly egregious, but also because, given how much I was paying to stay in this city, it seemed like it would just be a waste not to. I had planned a full-on touriststravaganza for my first day here, with nary a ring-road or random bog in sight. My plan then, based almost entirely on word-of-mouth recommendations was as follows; I would take a walk through Mirabelle gardens, situated not too far from my hostel and supposedly quite pleasant on my way to the Natural History (and Science) museum of Salzburg, which I had been told was a particularly excellent example of natural history (and also science) museums. After spending a few hours there, I would climb up to the Hohensalzburg castle, which had been leering down at me from the mountainout centre of the old-town since I had arrived, daring me to come and see it, if I was hard enough. Once I had had my fill of the thrill of being slightly elevated I would meander back down and have a stroll along the street on which Mozart was born and had now become a tat-hive of the highest order before finally, getting myself a lovely meal and heading back to my shitty little hostel which cost the earth.

I arrived at Mirabelle gardens not long after my plan was finalised. To be honest, I didn't spend very long there at all. Perhaps it was more spectacular during the summer, but I found the entire experience, as I did the gardens themselves, flat and uninspiring.

4/10

That didn't stop other tourists from taking a constant and steady stream of photographs, though. Of what, I am not sure; there didn't appear to be really anything of aesthetic interest within a hundred foot radius of the place, but snap away they did.

Disappointed with the gardens, though secretly a bit pleased to have freed up a little more time to spend on my other, more interesting activities, I walked briskly to the Natural History (and also Science as well) museum, paid nearly £10 to get in and, grumbling at how expensive literally everything is here, made my way inside.

The very first room of the museum  contained an approximately life-sized model of a giant squid (AKAthe best animal and I will hear literally no disagreement from any one of you motherfuckers) hanging from the roof in full attack mode

14/10

so I pretty instantly forgot how much I had just paid and began having an uncharacteristically good time. This...I think humans call it...enjoyment...continued as I progressed further into the museum, also.  Fans of terrible taxidermy (and I know there's at least one of you reading this...), I soon realised, would be disappointed with today's blog entry, as this museum was just genuinely very good and very slick. Nearly every exhibit looked like the thing it was supposed to, with no mangled up faces, or eyes popping out or bursting at the seams or anything. There were a...few odd exceptions, sure

I’m naming no names, incredibly buff marmot...

but for the most part, I really couldn't fault the museum. It was entertaining, well laid out and just generally expertly put together. It even had an aquarium (featuring an octopus and everything) and a reptile zoo. It was grand.

Fans of the blog with an extremely long memory, though, may remember on my very first trip, I visited a science museum named...NEMO or something, in Amsterdam, which, although very good on its lower floors, steadily detached itself more and more from reality as one proceeded upwards. Unfortunately for the Salzburg museum of Natural History (and also science, that's there too), though very fortunately for me, it had followed in NEMO's footsteps.

Interesting, well labelled and well thought out exhibits and animal displays petered out after around the third of five floors and gave way to...I'm not really sure what. They stopped signposting things in English after that. It appeared that what I had thought was an exhibit on Africa, though, had slowly transformed into some truly and utterly bizarre musings on mythical creatures- or at least I hoped so as it would go at least some way to explain the following:

Oh...hey, guy...

Then things really fell apart. I walked through rooms full of spooky masks

Ah!

past randomly placed posters full of cryptids

AH!

and...Garfield?

AHHHH!

The fever dream of the 4th floor, however, would pale in comparison to the full on tramadol overdose of the 5th. After meandering through a fairly good bit on the deep sea, the fifth floor straight up shat itself and delivered one of the weirdest and least coherent exhibits on the human body I have ever seen in my life. Pictures, more than words would do the experience justice,

Pictured: My nightmares

though a few highlights included an interactive display on how shit is formed, a pulse reading machine which declared one man who I witnessed use it as legally dead and a room full of stuff on sex and reproduction which boasted a picture of several women in their vests and pants with a button next to each. My best guess and rudimentary understanding of German told me that you press the button next to the woman you find the most attractive. When you did, it would display the stats for each woman and rank them by popularity amongst museum-goers. For anyone that's interested, the busty one was the winner.

Also of note were a series of little keyholes that one could peer through, each one of these tiny windows a porthole to the various stages of doing some sex. The first hole had a little barbie doll applying perfume to herself, the next hole had the same doll, now nude and with nipples amusingly etched onto her in pen, getting banged by a Ken doll. The next was just a picture of some random birds, which seemed...out of place and the final hole had a big collage of...like, leather and handcuffs and various other accoutrements of kink. It was deeply odd and rather jarring, sitting amongst a hitherto fairly child-friendly exhibit on reproduction.

Confused, though fairly sure I had now seen everything (including a wall of taxidermied dogs, positioned like, right next to the sex room) I left the nature part of the museum and checked out the sciency bit. It was shit and I spent very little time there. Overall though, the museum was still very good and probably benefited from all the weird junk in it. I definitely wouldn't forget my visit at the very least...

I had spent too long in the natural history (and hey, guys, don't forget about science!) museum and by the time I left, it was bordering on getting dark. It hardly seemed like it would be worthwhile climbing the big hill to the castle if I left it much longer, so I decided to do that next, postponing food, much to the chagrin of my angry tummy.

The walk up the hill was tiring, though enjoyable and peppered with fairly decent photo-opportunities.

I mean, it’s ait.

and after not-too-long, I arrived at the castle, sweaty, though triumphant. I walked through the main gate and...oh, you needed a ticket. And tickets were 10 euros. And it was only open for another half an hour. Right. Good. Okay, that was worth it. I turned around and headed back down. At least I had had a nice walk...

Yeah. Great.

After a quick stroll through the obsidian-dense crowds populating the street on which Mozart was born and where the  sheer quality and quantity of Mozart themed tat you can find is simulatenously both tremendously impressive and utterly depressing

Fuck you.

I headed to a local eatery for food. The diner was fairly low-end; very much your average sort of shitty UK takeaway level of quality, though somehow I still managed to spend over 10 euros on a very basic burger, too-salty fries and a small bottle of water. Oh, Austria!

I returned, very tired and (after those fucking fries) very thirsty, to my dorm. Upon entering, I realised that I was to share the room with some new guests. Three screeching, giggling Australian girls, who were every bit as immediately irritating as they sound. One of them was sitting on my bed.

“Oh, am I on your bed?” she tittered

I was so tired and the transgression so bizarrely rude that all I could muster in response was a gruff “Yes.”

I think she expected me to be better natured about it, but I doubt she would have been so light-hearted about the whole thing if she had returned to discover me sitting on her property, so she could fuck off. She moved from my bed, clearly making a mental note to never speak to me again and I retook my now pre-warmed throne.

I didn't hang around in the room for too long, darting back outside to the hostel's courtyard to quickly make some phone calls before finally returning to the room and to my bed, proper.

The lights were off as I cracked the door open for the second time. The Australian girls had gone to bed , already. It was 8:30pm.

“okay...” I sighed, not willing to  take my laptop downstairs, as the only communal space in which I could use it was current;y being used for the nightly broadcast of The Sound Of Music. Yes. Nightly. It looked like I was working in the dark for the rest of the evening.

More irritating, still, was the fact that one of these girls, the one sleeping above me and indeed the bet-sitter extraordinaire had decided to make use of the tiny little nightstand which sat next to my bunk to house her phone for the night. It was very clearly designed to be part of the lower bunk's set-up, but okay, I can just about understand not wanting to sleep with your phone next to you on an upper bunk, I guess. She had, however, neglected to switch it to mute, meaning that with every text, notification or update she got (and she got a stunning amount of these throughout the night and early morning) the phone would vibrate noisily right next to my fucking head, distracting me when I was awake and waking me up when I was asleep. Because there was a physical aspect to the vibration also, earplugs couldn't even block it out fully. It was a lot of fun.

Mercifully though, at around 2am, all her apps had updated, the notifications ceased and people stopped texting her, having received literally no response for the previous six hours and I could finally drift off to sleep, angry and exhausted.

[aseriesofvariousevents]

River of Teeth Series

I’m not sure where I found this series, but, prior to reading it, I had not seen great things from any of my friends. Luckily, I still managed to really enjoy the first book, and even though the I found the second lacking, I had a good time reading. This is a weird alternative history filled with hippo-riding outlaws that made for a genuinely exciting read. 

This was a surprisingly fun story. I’ve honestly never read about a more queer cast of characters, though I do wish we’d gotten to know them all a bit better. Gailey’s alternative history of hippos was interesting, but despite the plot hinging upon this change, the overall change felt pretty negligible. I did love the overall atmosphere and was hooked literally from the first page. I feel like this could work really well as a movie with just the sheer amount of action happening. I truly did not think I’d enjoy this, but I’m glad I gave it a shot anyway.

Favorite Quote: Boys will make you cry, but girls? Girls will make you sweat.

This by far paled in comparison to the first novella. It was still mildly exciting and had some sweet moments, but it just wasn’t fun to read. Everyone was super angsty and very much woe is me and I just couldn’t empathize. And hippos somehow seemed to matter even less here. I did like the writing and it was a super quick read, but I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed after I liked its predecessor so much.

Favorite Quote: Tell her that I was every inch her mother, and that I loved her more than I loved being the best.

I was a little disappointed in Taste of Morrow after having truly loved River of Teeth, but this series is one I don’t regret giving a shot. Gailey’s writing totally hooked me, and, as I said earlier, it literally felt like watching a movie, especially the first. This wasn’t a series I had anticipated enjoying, but if you are even remotely interested in the premise, I’d give it a shot. The beauty of the novella is that if you hate it, you’ve wasted at most like 2 hours of your life. 

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐  

Books in Series: River of Teeth; Taste of Morrow

Author: Sarah Gailey

BONUS REVIEWS

Cute but nothing special. I do love Ruby, though.

Favorite Quote: She’d been worth every ingot.

This was a fun little backstory to Archie and Houndstooth. It added a bit of dimension to their relationship as a whole. Carter, though, I couldn’t care less about.

Favorite Quote: But Regina Archambault is no man.

Bonus Reviews: Worth Her Weight in Gold; Nine and a Half (featured in American Hippo)